Clumsy
by whiskey-lullaby
Summary: "Mildred Hubble is the worst young witch at this academy; given her blatant disregard for the rules, intellectual ineptitude and inattentiveness," Constance spat, "She is not in any danger that she does not put herself or others in! Her obstinacy and poor, poor physical coordination endangers every friend and instructor she comes in contact with! Mistreated? Impossible." NEW 06/17
1. She Doesn't Ask

_Chapter One: She Doesn't Ask_

 **October 22, 1999**

 **3:04pm**

"Mildred!" Maud Moonshine exclaimed, and rushed over to her best friend.

Mildred fell to her knees and clutched her profusely bleeding nose, "mmFine…" she obstinately murmured. She squeezed her eyes shut in response to the sharp pain.

"Oops," Ethel Hallow remarked dryly, having been the source of Mildred's injury.

Maud, at Mildred's side, shot Ethel a death glare. "You did that on _purpose_! Miss Drill told us _not_ to aim the ball at each others heads!"

Imogen Drill, overhearing the commotion, jogged over to Maud & Mildred. She regarded her injured young pupil with a sigh, and gently said, "Mildred, come with me. We'll take care of your injury. And Ethel…you are to report to the headmistresses' office immediately."

Ethel rolled her eyes, and began to trudge back from the open field that they had been playing dodgeball in towards the castle.

Mildred shook Maud's hand from her back and stood, complying with Imogens instructions. Imogen attempted to take her arm but Mildred pulled away and muttered, "Mmmfine, Miss. Cnwalk onmmown."

 _That's odd_ Imogen thought, but did not attempt to touch her pupil again.

 **3:12pm**

Imogen led Mildred to her office; a poorly cramped room that Amelia Cackle had hastily assigned to her on her first day of work. She guided Mildred to sit onto the chair across from her desk, and gathered a handful of tissues which she subsequently instructed the young girl to bunch up under her nose with her left hand.

"Now, with your right hand," Imogen instructed, "pinch the bridge of your nose. Then tilt your head back. That's it." Mildred complied, and Imogen noted how her pupil tracked her every movement, in an almost neurotic fashion.

After several minutes, the bleeding from the young girls nose had subsided, and Imogen approached her with a damp cloth. "Here, use this to clean your face. Those robes will need washing." Mildred looked at the cloth suspiciously, then hastily took it from her physical education teachers hands. She disposed of the red-stained tissues and proceeded to wipe her face free of dried blood.

Imogen stepped away from her, and sat on the rickety chair on the other side of her desk. Once Mildred had sufficiently scrubbed her face clean, Imogen spoke.

"Mildred, in your opinion, did Ethel Hallow _intend_ to hit you with the dodgeball?"

"Dunno," Mildred shrugged her shoulders, and stared down at the sullied cloth in her hands, "the pain makes it really hard to remember, Miss. It could have been my fault."

Truthfully, Imogen had seen Ethel hurl the dodgeball with full force at her adversaries face, but the motive behind her query was to assess Mildred's response to abusive behavior.

"I see," Imogen replied, keeping her facial expression neutral, "but it is rather hard, when following the rules of the game, to hit an opponent square in the nose."

Imogen noted the abrupt clench of Mildred's fists, "I suppose so, Miss. I really don't remember, though."

 **7:28pm**

Mildred absently pushed the cooked carrots around her plate; her appetite had dropped far below baseline after the incident with Ethel during dodgeball. Maud, sitting right beside her at the dining hall table, noted her friends defeated posture and glum expression.

"Mildred, you seem very upset," Maud said tentatively. Mildred shrugged noncommittally in response.

"Maybe you should talk to Ms. Cackles about Ethel?" Maud continued, "She's always pushed us around… but when it gets physical like that I think it's worth telling someone."

Mildred tensed, "Maud, it's hardly worth it. They'll just see me as a tattle-tale." _The authorities at this school already see me as an idiot as is_.

Maud pushed further, "Regardless of that, this is something that is _worth_ telling."

"Yeah, Mildred," Enid interjected, through a mouthful of mashed potatoes, "Even if rules here aren't always fun for us, you should still use them to your advantage."

Mildred looked up, "I _know_ the both of you care," she said emphatically, hiding a clenched fist under the table, "I just really _don't_ want to talk to any teachers about it."

Maud noted the almost-pleading look in her friends eyes, and sighed in assent. "Okay Mildred, if that's really what you want."

"Even if you don't want to talk to teachers," Enid offered, "I could still make sure that some type of _discipline_ befalls our dear Ethel."

Mildred smiled a bit, then shook her head and said good-humoredly, "That won't be necessary. But I am grateful for that."

Enid grinned and replied, "My offer will stand as long as necessary. You can change your mind at any time."

Maud gave Enid a warning look, "And, if you change your mind about _telling Ms. Cackles_ ," she emphasized, "we are _both_ willing to go with you for support."

Enid rolled her eyes and said, "Yeah, of course. That too."

Mildred felt a warm feeling in the pit of her stomach. _It's nice to know they care._

* * *

 **October 23** **rd** **, 1999**

 **3:15pm**

"Imogen!" Amelia Cackles exclaimed warmly, and beckoned the teacher into her office. Before Imogen could sit down, Amelia had enveloped her in a hug.

Imogen sunk into the embrace briefly, and pulled back with a glowing smile upon her face. "It's good to see you, boss" she said.

"Likewise! I do apologize for being so absent this term," Amelia said earnestly, and settled into the plush purple chair behind her desk. "I have had some _familial_ issues to contend with," she said gravely.

Imogen took a seat across from Amelia. "Ah, yes. That whole having-an-evil-twin thing must be difficult," she said sympathetically.

Amelia frowned for a millisecond before forcing an overly positive expression and saying, "Yes, well. Everyone has difficulties that must be overcome, I suppose. What brings you here today, Imogen?"

Imogen furrowed her brow. Sometimes the headmistress' neurotic attempts to appear pleasant at all times were unsettling. "I came to speak with you about the incident that occurred during my class yesterday afternoon," she began, "I had the girls play a game of dodgeball and Ethel-"

"Ethel Hallow, yes yes yes," Amelia cut her off abruptly, "you sent her to my office yesterday. She relayed to me that she had not meant to hit Ms. Hubble with the…the dodgerball; but you were convinced that was her intent?"

"It _was_ her intent," Imogen insisted, "I saw her do it. And I saw her smile when it hit Mildred and Mildred's nose started to bleed."

"I see," Amelia said, and leaned back in her chair, "well that is obviously unacceptable. I will have to have a long talk with Ms. Hallow."

"A _talk?_ " Imogen responded, "Amelia, to be frank, _she lashed out physically_ at another student. Shouldn't that warrant detentions and a meeting with the girls father?"

"Oh, Imogen, Imogen," Amelia said, and waved her hand dismissively, "adolescents are very adversarial at this age, especially young women. I will relay the importance of peer respect to Ms. Hallow when I speak to her again."

 _ **If**_ _you actually speak to her again_ Imogen thought angrily. She couldn't quite bring herself to resent Amelia, however. She knew that the headmistress' leniency towards Ethel had more to do with Mr. Hallows control over the annual funding that Cackles Academy received and less to do with a genuine _laissez-faire_ attitude towards bullying.

"If that is what you feel is best," Imogen said quietly, and fixed her gaze onto her lap.

"Is Mildred alright, Imogen?" Amelia said, concern evident in her voice, "her nose wasn't broken, was it?"

Imogen looked up. "No, her nose wasn't broken" she responded. _But I'm not sure if the rest of her is alright_.

"Does she wish to speak with me about the incident?" Amelia pressed.

"No, I think she was embarrassed. She made it clear she did not want to discuss it further," Imogen answered. She bit her lip nervously. She wanted to tell Amelia that the girl was displaying worrisome behavior, but she feared that she was simply projecting her own past onto a student. Her worry was only based on one interaction, after all.

"I can't say that I blame her," Amelia said sympathetically. She then noted the visible distress on her usually happy-go-lucky employees' face.

"Imogen, is something bothering _you?_ " Amelia asked gently.

Imogen looked up. "I'm just exhausted, Amelia. I had trouble sleeping last night," she said quickly, then added with a small smile, "but thank you for asking."

"You could ask Constance to brew a Slumber Draught if the problem persists," Amelia offered, "if you feel comfortable, of course."

Imogen rolled her eyes, "I'm not _scared_ of her Amelia. We are just two very different women."

"That is an understatement, my dear," Amelia said good-naturedly, and cracked a smile.

Imogen laughed. "Fair enough, fair enough boss," she said warmly, and stood from her sitting position. "Thank you, in any case Amelia," she opened her arms.

Amelia stood and accepted her offer with a tight hug. "So good to see you dear," Amelia said lovingly, and patted her back.

 **3:42pm**

After leaving Amelia's office, Imogen decided to take a stroll through the castle grounds to clear her head. She felt guilty that she had not been entirely honest with the headmistress about what irked her, but it had not felt like the right time to bring up her suspicions.

Mildred Hubble had acted exactly like she did when she was thirteen and had to go to the school nurses' office for a nosebleed. That nurse had been incredibly perceptive, and Imogen had been immensely grateful to her for getting her out of a dangerous situation. Of course, the fact that the nurse had physical evidence to report was one of the main reasons that resulted in the removal of Imogen from her home. But the nurse would have never thought to check the back of Imogen's neck for bruises if she had not first picked up on Imogen's fearful behavior.

Imogen sighed. If her hunch about Mildred was correct, the girl had a long and painful road ahead of her.

* * *

 **October 25** **th** **, 1999**

 **10:18am**

"Mildred, you barely touched your breakfast. Are you sure everything is okay?" Maud asked her friend anxiously.

Mildred, Enid, and Maud had arrived to Potions class early, and were sitting at their respective desks with Mildred in the middle.

"I just don't feel that hungry, Maud" Mildred said, "Maybe my body just doesn't need it."

"Mildred, that's ridiculous," Maud countered, "Girls our age need more caloric intake than the average adult woman."

"Maud, stop with all the book-learnedness," Enid groaned, "it reminds me how lazy I've been this term."

Maud ignored Enid completely. "Not to mention, Mildred," she pressed, "you have had dark circles under your eyes for the past month. Are you sure you're not ill?"

Enid cocked her head thoughtfully and added, "Yeah, Mildred. You usually sleep like the dead. Seriously. Maybe you have that one disease, you know, the one you get from kissing. It supposedly makes you tired all the time."

Mildred rolled her eyes and remarked, "Enid, I don't have a kissing disease. If any of us caught a kissing disease it'd be _you_."

Enid giggled. Maud opened her mouth, but before she could say anything Constance Hardbroom made her usual dramatic entrance into the Potions classroom.

Mildred was grateful for her Professors presence; it had saved her from expending what little energy she had to deflect Maud's concern. That gratitude dissipated within the first twenty minutes of class. Ms. Hardbroom was in a _mood_. Luckily for Mildred, however, the Potions Professor was vitriolic towards the entire class, so at least she wasn't being singled out.

Mildred stared out the window, entranced by the deep gray sky that stretched over the castle, bordered by the dark trees of the distant forest. That sky had been home to her first disastrous flying lesson, and she had travelled across it twice now to leave her family for the better part of each year and attend Cackles Academy.

"Mildred Hubble!" Ms. Hardbroom's voice broke through her nostalgia and startled her.

"Yes, Miss?" she answered.

"Would you care to join the rest of us in the _present?_ " the Professor sneered derisively.

" _Come upstairs, darling. I have a_ _ **present**_ _for you."_

Mildred's stomach turned. Her senses were momentarily overwhelmed by the smell of stale whiskey and the sound of heavy breathing.

It passed.

"I'm here, Miss," Mildred said quietly, and dragged a clenched fist sharply against her thigh. "I'm sorry."

"Very well, Ms. Hubble" Ms. Hardbroom responded, her eyes narrowed with suspicion, "but do not expect my assistance while brewing your draught. You should have been paying attention."

Mildred acknowledged the statement with a curt nod; and tensed all of her muscles to prevent herself from trembling.

 **11:45am**

Mildred had never been so anxious for class to end. Despite multiple attempts at deep breathing, her central nervous system was _still_ hijacked and she only knew of one way to regain control. When Ms. Hardbroom announced that the period had ended, she made haste to tidy up her brewing station. After that task was completed, she told Enid and Maud she was going to the restroom, and would meet them in the dining hall for lunch.

Mildred sought out the girls restroom at the far end of the castle, one that she was certain that none of the girls in her year used. When she arrived, she rushed into the first stall she saw and latched the door firmly behind her.

Mildred reached down into the inner pocket of her robes, and retrieved a small box of razors. She took one of the blades out, momentarily mesmerized by the way the overhead light glinted off of its edge. She dragged the razor across her left wrist once, twice, three times.

Blood ran down Mildred's snow white arm in rivulets. The painful, throbbing sensation overtook her senses, and the panic she had been so desperate to stop feeling finally disappeared.

* * *

 _The teacher wonders, but she doesn't ask_

 _It's hard to see the pain behind the mask_

 _Bearing the burden of a secret storm_

 _Sometimes she wishes she was never born_

Authors Note: I take no ownership of the Creative property of Jill Murphy or Martina McBride.


	2. Only Skin

_Chapter Two: Only Skin_

 **October 29** **th** **, 1999**

 **07:18am**

Mildred took a bite of her scrambled egg. Like everything else she had attempted to eat for breakfast, it tasted like sandpaper.

She could feel Maud's eyes on her. _Why does she have to be such a mother hen?_ Mildred thought, irritated. Over the past week, her bespectacled friend had become keenly perceptive of her general crestfallen mood. Mildred didn't understand why it had suddenly become so apparent; she had been carrying the weight of unspeakable things with her for as long as she could remember. She supposed that maybe she wasn't distracted enough. After all, she couldn't recall the last time she found it necessary to cover up the disastrous results of any magical scheme gone wrong. If she had been earning a living performing damage control, she would have been bumped up several pay grades during her first year at Cackles.

Mildred sighed, careful not to sound as glum as she felt. In order to adopt the persona of the normal ' _Millie'_ everyone at the academy knew; she had to be engaged in _something_ she considered worthwhile. _It's_ _ **almost**_ _regrettable that there aren't any evil plots to take over Cackles for me to deter._

 **03:34pm**

Imogen observed Mildred intently. The teen witch absentmindedly dug the toe of her athletic shoe into the dirt, having made no effort at all on her side of the net to hit the tennis ball with her racket. Every time one of the girls teammates attempted to encourage her to participate, she would shrug her shoulders as if to say, "I wouldn't be any good if I tried anyway."

Behind Mildred, Ms. Nightshade and Ms. Moonshine had exchanged a number of concerned glances, which Imogen supposed meant that they were put off by their comrades odd behavior. Odd behavior, indeed. Mildred had never displayed any considerable athletic aptitude as long as Imogen had known her, but she always at least _tried_ to make an effort. Her despondent behavior was all the more worrisome given that Ms. Hallow was on the opposing team; Mildred was uncharacteristically dismissive of an opportunity to potentially best her schoolyard nemesis.

Was it possible that the girl was depressed due to a simple hormonal imbalance? Imogen knew that puberty was often accompanied by mood swings as an adolescents body attempted to adjust to rapid changes in growth. But if that were really the case, she would have seen Mildred display a whole range of emotions. Over the course of the past week, Mildred had appeared consistently morose. She only ate at meals when Ms. Nightshade or Ms. Moonshine piled food on her plate and chided her to eat. Even then, the amounts she consumed to placate her friends were not substantial enough to sustain her.

Imogen looked down at her watch. She had been so lost in thought that she had allowed class to continue ten minutes over the allotted period time.

 **09:43pm**

"You know, I've always wanted a daughter. But if my daughter turned out to be anything like Ethel, I'd abandon her in the middle of the forest in a _taped_ cardboard box," Enid muttered.

Mildred snorted and followed her friend up the stone staircase to the girls dormitory.

"Did you _hear_ her during tennis?" Enid angrily continued, "all she did was talk about how bleak we were at _everything_ we tried, and how her _father_ would never have allowed her to perform as poorly as we did."

Mildred did not remember the details of Ethel's incessant taunting from earlier in the day, but she did remember Ethel commenting on how unfortunate Mildred, Maud, and Enids upbringing must have been without _fathers like hers_ to raise them properly.

Mildred had bristled, but not from personal insult; she was perfectly aware that her _own_ father did not possess any demonstrable parenting capability; but she knew that Enid had grown up with just her mother and it had pained her to see how deeply Ethel's words had hurt. Mildred had been about to cut Ethel down to size with a particularly cruel barb, but Ms. Drill had blown her whistle and before Mildred knew it Ethel was gone from sight, presumably to prance off towards the castle with her human lap-dog (Drusilla) in tow. She was perturbed by how strong her desire to fight with Ethel had been. Since the beginning of her second year, she had not felt a particular drive to spar when her adversary directed insults at her. But when Ethel had _insulted her friend_ , she had felt so instantaneously combative that she had almost scared herself.

Mildred hugged Enid tightly good night. Wordless comfort was her offer of choice; she figured her friends passionate ranting belied a deep hurt that Enid would rather not openly admit.

* * *

 **October 31** **st** **, 1999**

 **07:38pm**

Mildred grinned. She loved Halloween.

The dining hall was decorated with orange streamers that had been enchanted such that the eyes of the cartoonish jack-o-lanterns on them dimmed and glowed intermittently. At random intervals, "muuuuahahahas!"; comical in their attempt to sound foreboding, echoed throughout the large room.

Mildred smiled across her untouched pumpkin pie at Enid, dressed as a mime and entertaining herself by pretending that she was trapped behind a wall of glass. She surveyed the head table, and was delighted to see that even the teachers had gotten into the holiday spirit. Ms. Drill was dressed in a crudely-made ghost costume (a pillow-case with cut out holes for the eyes), Ms. Bat had dressed as an actual bat (for the ninth year in a row, apparently), and even Ms. Hardbroom had made an attempt to dress up (she wore a simple headband with cat ears and had painted thin black whiskers on her cheeks).

Mildred had bypassed costuming herself this year; none of the options she had would adequately conceal the self-inflicted wounds on her forearm. She had simply told all of her classmates she wanted to have an ironic Halloween and said that for the day she was only to be addressed as, "the best witch." It had been the happiest she had felt all term, the holiday had such a pleasant effect on her that she had presented herself with consistent ease and confidence throughout the day.

When she was a child, her paternal aunt used to take her trick-or-treating every Halloween. Aunt Delilah was a sweet, affectionate woman that always insisted on indulging Mildred with intricate costumes that she would hand-make at least a week before the holiday. She embraced her niece as often as she would allow and Mildred still found herself fantasizing that she was in her Aunt's arms whenever she felt particularly unsafe or sad. Aunt Delilah had passed away several months after Mildred's 8th birthday, succumbing to a years-long battle with pancreatic cancer. When Mildred discovered her magical abilities at the age of 11, she had felt cheated; convinced that if she had known she was a witch from a younger age she would have been able to save Aunt Delilah with her powers. Her grief had deepened when she was taught that it was not possible for magic to cure terminal illnesses during her first year.

"Well, well, _well_ , " Ethel's drawling voice broke through Mildred's thoughts, "this is your best Halloween costume yet, _Millie_. It's delightful that you've begun to accept how truly hideous you are."

Mildred turned to face the other girl. Ethel was dressed in a gorgeous silver ball gown that fit her snugly at the waist. The skirt of the dress was adorned with glitter that had been spelled to gleam silver and sky-blue at alternating intervals. She wore slippers made of glass and her elegantly curled hair framed her face.

Mildred was impressed with the aesthetics, of the dress at least. _**She**_ _would look beautiful if she wasn't sneering like that._

"Sod _off_ , Ethel" Enid hissed from across the dining table, "before I shove one of those glass slippers right up your a-"

"Enid, it's quite alright," Mildred said in an eerily pleasant tone, never taking her eyes off Ethel, "we should leave her slippers _and_ gown intact. Surely, her father bought them for her so he doesn't have to visit or write her, and she can at least _feel_ like he loves her when she wears them."

All the color drained from Ethel's face. All of the young witches in the immediate vicinity fell silent. Ethel set her jaw firmly, but Mildred saw the tears forming at the corners of her eyes and knew she had struck the right chord. Without saying another word, Ethel walked away.

Mildred ignored the inquisitive looks her peers gave her as she sat back down at the dining table. She almost felt guilty.

Almost.

 **08:35pm**

Imogen Drill had enjoyed her day as a ghost; the particular highlight had been when she had startled Amelia and Davina with a loud, "BOO!" as they began to round a corner she had been hiding behind.

After several failed attempts to eat a sufficient amount of her meal while maintaining her festive get-up, however, she was forced to abandon the pillowcase in favor of nutritive sustenance. She had overindulged herself when the pumpkin pie had arrived at the head table, and as a result was forced to make the journey from the dining hall back to her quarters at a much slower-than-usual pace lest she agitate her bloated stomach.

Halfway through her trek, she heard a faint exchange of whispered, anxious voices. She had no intention of eavesdropping until she heard the name, "Mildred." Grateful that her sneakers did not reverberate off the stone walls of the Academy's hallways, she crept quietly in the direction of the far off sounds.

When Imogen reached the end of hallway, she was finally able to make out the familiar voices of Ms. Moonshine and Ms. Nightshade:

"But Maud, Ethel _deserved_ it. She's been awful to Mildred ever since they first met!"

"What Ethel deserves isn't the point, though! She's the worst, I'm the first to admit it, but even I felt bad for her when I saw her reaction. What Mildred said was just _cruel_."

"Cruel, but accurate. You can't call her a liar."

"Enid, I've never known Millie to be _intentionally_ cruel, to _anyone_. No matter what Ms. Hardbroom, Ethel, or anyone has ever said or done to her I've never seen her actually retaliate with an intent to cause pain. She's just too good-hearted."

"I'll give you that. Before we got really close, I used to think that she was weak or people-pleasing or something, but in reality she just cares about people in general. And yeah, I guess, the look on her face when she was saying that…it was strange."

"It was as if something _possessed_ her, Enid! What's more, she didn't even seem like she regretted it in the slightest. I mean, every time she talks back to HB, she always vents to us about how guilty she feels. She even feels guilty whenever HB takes her screwing up a potion personally, like HBs mood is her fault or something."

Imogen felt one of her feet begin to fall asleep, and shifted positions as quietly as possible.

"Maud, you're right. She wants everyone to be happy, sometimes even at the expense of herself. Maybe she just…I don't know….went to the other extreme? Maybe she's just tired of people not caring as much as she does."

"Millie isn't that naïve, Enid. She must know on some level she isn't responsible for other people. But she actually seemed to enjoy hurting Ethel. And that worries me."

"Well it's probably because she's so tired and is losing all that weight. Not eating and not sleeping can make a person way more irritable than usual. I don't think she's _possessed,_ Maud."

"I'm not suggesting that, but she got that weird I-enjoy-your-suffering gleam in her eyes that I've never seen before. That's besides the point, though. What troubles me is _why_ she doesn't eat and sleep. When I try to bring it up, she _always_ changes the subject. She's flinches every time someone closes a door too loudly, or shrieks with excitement, or whatever. She changes from being hyper-alert to completely lost in thought. I don't _get_ it."

From her hiding place behind the stone wall a mere two feet away, Imogen slumped her shoulders. _If I wasn't convinced before, I'm sure as hell convinced now._

* * *

 **November 1** **st** **, 1999**

 **03:56pm**

Mildred wiped the sweat from her palms on the skirt of her dress; unable to ascertain Ms. Drill's intentions for calling a private meeting in her office. _I'm sure it's nothing. At worst, she wants to bring up the whole Ethel situation again._

"Mildred, I'd like to take a look at your wrist. You fell on it during class at what looked like a very painful angle."

Mildred's stomach dropped. "Which wrist, Miss? I think I fell on them both," she lied.

Ms. Drill fixed her with a searching look. "Your right wrist. You've been cradling it all afternoon."

Mildred breathed a sigh of relief. She presented her swollen right wrist to her teacher. Ms. Drill examined it carefully, applying only slight pressure to the edematous area in order to avoid causing pain. Mildred silently cursed herself for not changing out of her regular school attire for the hide-and-go-seek game Ms. Drill had allowed them to play in the forest, she should of known she would injure herself by tripping over her own bootlaces. _I've only just learned to tie them._

"It looks like a sprain, but I can't be sure it isn't broken. Can you flex and extend it for me?"

Wordlessly, Mildred complied, wincing slightly when she flexed but not when she extended.

"Good, it doesn't appear to be broken. I'll be right back, I'm going to fetch you an icepack."

Mildred pondered her teachers odd behavior; usually Ms. Drill made intermittent eye contact and engaged in some form of small talk, but the woman had fixed her with several penetrating stares and seemed to be choosing every word she used carefully. _As if she's preparing herself for some sort of unpleasant conversation._

When Ms. Drill returned, Mildred accepted the ice pack she offered with exaggerated graciousness. Mildred applied the frozen bag to her wrist, and the cold brought immediate relief.

"Mildred," her instructor said, "Your wrist…it looks as though you injured it many years ago, and the bones did not heal properly."

"Um, yeah," Mildred said, and cleared her throat, "When I was four, I fell off the top of a fence. I tried to break the fall with my right hand, and my wrist ended up breaking."

"Did you go to the local hospital and get a cast?"

 _Yes, I actually went to the emergency department at St. Nunya Damn Business._ "Yes, Miss. I had a cast for…a while. I still sometimes have problems with it, though. My grip is much weaker in my right hand than in my left."

"It's no wonder," Ms. Drill said quietly, "it seems as if there was a complete displacement of the attachment between the bone underneath your little finger and the outermost bone in your wrist."

Mildred looked down at her right hand. The swelling had magnified the diagonal angling of her fingers in relation to the base of her right wrist. She barely thought about it anymore; the injury had happened so long ago. She silently resented the older woman for bringing it to her attention.

"You may want to have a Wizarding physician look at it, as trauma to a poorly healed fracture can make the difficulties you already have with your hand worse," Ms. Drill pressed. "Or," Ms. Drill paused, then said pointedly, "you may have the physician your _parents_ bring you to on a regular basis examine it when you go home for the Christmas holiday."

 _Good one, Miss Drill. Like **no one** __has_ _ever_ _tried that on me before._

"Thank you, Miss," Mildred said in an overly saccharine tone, "I think I'll do that." She felt a petty sense of satisfaction when Ms. Drill pursed her lips in obvious frustration.

"Mildred…" the older woman said hesitantly, "Is everything alright at home?"

Mildred furrowed her brow in mock confusion. "Yes, of course," she said, and flashed her instructor a smile that didn't meet her eyes, "everything is fine. I spoke with my mum on the phone several days ago, actually."

Ms. Drill raised a disbelieving eyebrow. "Mildred, you have not been well. You start at the slightest of noises. You become undeniably anxious whenever an adult starts a conversation with you. I don't mean to pry-"

"Then why are you asking so many _questions?_ " Mildred snarled before she could stop herself. Ms. Drill was not at all taken aback by her hostility; in fact, she seemed to have _expected_ it.

"Because I am concerned for your well-being Mildred. Especially at the hands of your guardians."

"My parents are lovely people!" Mildred insisted, "they would never do anything to harm me. They love me. How _dare_ you say that about them?" _How_ _ **dare**_ _she bother herself with things that are none of her concern?_

Ms. Drill straightened her shoulders, and sat back. Mildred could tell by the pointed look she gave her that she did not believe her in the slightest. "Alright, Mildred, I apologize. I was wrong to have assumed something of the sort. I am sorry if I have insulted you," the older womans tone was maddeningly gentle.

"Thank you, Miss" Mildred said through gritted teeth, "for the apology. I have to get back to my friends now, if you'll excuse me."

"Run along," Ms. Drill assented, and Mildred left her office as fast as she possibly could. _See her try and prove something. She can't._

* * *

 **November 2** **nd** **, 1999**

 **8:48pm**

A sharp rap on Constance's classroom door brought her out of her essay-grading daze, and she stood and spelled the door open.

"Ms. Hardbroom," Ms. Drill regarded her, breathless, _as always,_ but bearing an unusually solemn expression, "thank you for allowing me into your quarters this late in the evening."

"You are welcome," Constance replied, then added, "I do _hope_ there is good reason, as I am barely a third of the way through grading mid-term essays."

Imogen walked towards her, and stopped two feet short of her desk. "As good a reason as any I can think of," she took a deep breath, and looked down at her hands, "It concerns the safety of a student."

Constance rose from her sitting position instantly, her full attention focused on Imogen, " _Immediate_ danger? Do we need to find one of the girls?"

Imogen looked up, and met the intense concern on her colleague's face. "Nothing immediate, as in right at this very moment," she noted Constance's visible relaxation, and continued, "But I have strong reason to believe a student is being harmed at the hands of her guardians, or at the very least, someone in her home."

Constance tensed once again and replied, "That is most unfortunate. I have reported a handful of cases of mistreatment during my time here….and the experiences were quite unsettling," she paused for a moment to remember painfully. "What injuries have you seen?"

Imogen bit her lip, "I haven't exactly seen any _recent_ injuries, Constance. She does have a poorly healed fracture on her right wrist; which she insisted she received medical care for as a child, but it is held at such an odd angle that I doubt the validity of her claim. She hasn't told me that there have been problems at home. But the girls behavior strongly suggests to me that she has been abused."

Constance's eyebrows almost disappeared into her hairline. "So, you are alleging occurrences of abuse against this child based on no _verifiable_ evidence?" she accused tersely, "you must know that the wrist is the most commonly broken bone in the human body, and fractures can occur for a number of reasons."

Imogen set her jaw. "Despite that, the girls _behavior_ is unmistakable, Constance. It is impossible to ignore," she paused, considered her next statements, then continued, "I spoke with Amelia earlier this evening, and she told me that to conduct a series of magical diagnostics on the physical well-being of this student without consent is against Magical Law. So, I felt the best course of action was to inform a fellow colleague of my concerns such that you could observe the child as well. Just to see if you pick up on any behaviors that might warrant an investigation."

Constance pinched the bridge of her nose and exhaled dramatically, as though dealing with a particularly difficult pupil.

Immediately put off by the wary reaction, Imogen said, "Perhaps this was a mistake. I'm sorry to have bothered you." With that, she turned to leave.

"Imogen," Constance called, just as Imogen had reached the classroom door, "Stop. Stay for a moment."

Imogen turned, and was surprised to see the openly conflicted expression on Constance's face.

"While I do not agree with _conspiring_ to gather evidence in order to submit a student to an investigation that would be assuredly traumatic," Constance said, "I do understand that you are legitimately worried about a child in your care. Thus, I will keep a close eye on this pupil."

"Thank you Con-" Imogen started to express her gratitude, but Constance abruptly cut her off.

" _However,_ I will only agree to report to Amelia with concerns similar to yours if I see a suspicious injury on the student, or if the student directly communicates to me that she has been abused," Constance added, her shoulders rigid, "I will not base a report upon _odd behavior_."

Imogen nodded, she felt slightly defeated but grateful that Constance had been willing to empathize, "Thank you, Constance. Truly. That means a lot."

"You are welcome," Constance said awkwardly, perturbed that her and her colleague had actually _agreed_ on something. She fixed her eyes on the floor, and continued sharply, "So that I can get back to my grading, please tell me which student have you been referring to."

Imogen cleared her throat. _Here we go._ "Mildred Hubble" she said firmly.

Constance looked up and snorted. "Imogen, that is ridiculous."

"It most certainly is _not,_ " Imogen replied with indignation, "if you could stop seeing Mildred as nothing but a hateful nuisance maybe you would see what I see! Maybe she hasn't developed enough _proper magical skills_ because she's been too busy trying to protect herself!"

Constance scowled defensively, and anger twisted her gut. _That little fitness fanatic should know better than to raise her voice at_ _ **me**_ **!**

"Mildred Hubble is the worst young witch at this academy; given her blatant disregard for the rules, intellectual ineptitude and inattentiveness," she spat, "She is not in any danger that she does not put herself or others in! Her obstinacy and poor, poor physical coordination endangers every friend and instructor she comes in contact with! Mistreated? _Impossible_. Her immature development is a sign of being spoiled rotten, and never being properly reprimanded!" Constance huffed after her tirade, relieved somewhat after her passionate unburdening.

Imogen balled up her fists, she felt her blood pressure rise and her face buzz with heat as it turned red. "Have you ever considered," she began through gritted teeth, "that you may not _always_ be right?"

Imogens acerbic tone paired with the irate gleam in her eyes caught Constances attention. She had never seen the other woman so passionately angry.

"Inattentiveness, you assume, must equate with stubborn refusal to comply. Am I correct?" Imogens chest heaved up and down, her composure deteriorating as her rage built. _This is personal now._

"Ms. Drill, it is not an _assumption_ regarding Mildred Hubble, it is an _informed opinion_ , from a _mature_ observer," Constance asserted, taking personal offense. Her colleague had essentially accused her of neglect, and she would not stand for that. She worked hard to protect the young women she taught.

Not deterred at all by Constance's jab, Imogen replied, "Then I am correct in identifying your _allegedly_ mature observation of Mildred's behavior. I have several counterarguments. First, susceptibility to distraction is common in battered children, an inability to follow directions is associated with the need to pay attention to where the next threat, or _blow_ ; is coming from."

Constance opened her mouth to respond, but Imogen loudly cut her off, "SECOND, poor physical coordination can be associated with physical abuse that results in nerve damage, or neglect, such that the child is not taught to meet physical developmental milestones at an appropriate rate. She frequently has her bootlaces untied, does she not?"

Once again, Constance opened her mouth, but Imogen intended the stated question to be rhetorical, "Thirdly, my _dear_ colleague, it is very clear that her responses to authority figures at this academy are either characterized by fear and withdrawal or immediate attachment. Rather unusual extremes for a child who just may simply be 'intellectually inept' or excessively clumsy, don't you think?"

Constance pursed her lips tightly, and took a deep breath before she formulated a response. "Imogen, I am at a loss as to why you seem so keen on drawing connections where none exist, however, if your sentiments are that strong, perhaps you should ask Ms. Hubble herself if there are _problems at home_." Constance was unable to keep a sneer from forming. The thought of Mildred having to endure any sort of traumatic hardship that was not of her own making seemed so incredibly preposterous to her.

Imogen opened and closed her mouth, seemingly unable to form words. Just as Constance was about to make a snide remark about the other teacher resembling a guppy fish, Imogen said in a soft, but very serious voice, "I have tried, Constance. The way in which the girl denied having problems at home was extremely telling. She got angry and began defending her parents to high heavens."

"Then you have your answer!" Constance exclaimed in exasperation, "she is an overindulged little deviant; that is more evident in her _behavior_ than anything else!"

Imogen paused, and considered the woman before her. Then something clicked.

"I have observed interactions between the two of you," Imogen began slowly, "I have seen how she consistently attempts to impress you, and accepts your berating as though she believes she deserves nothing more than insults and disapproval. It is obvious that she attaches to abusive adults, because she has been raised by abusive adults, and will only seek to get approval or love from _abusive adults_. And you, you…" she had to stop. Her throat constricted, and her vision blurred, "are _one of them_." A single tear spilled down her cheek.

An uncomfortable silence settled between the two women.

Finally, Constance spoke. "Imogen," she said firmly, but not unkindly, "I have given you my perspective on the Hubble girl, and it is, and always will be, vastly different from yours. I do, however, acknowledge your passion for your view, as evidenced by what some may call _excessive_ theatrics. I would recommend you work to solve your own personal difficulties before delving into the intimate life of one of your students."

Imogen closed her eyes against more impending tears. She knew Constance was partially right; she had unresolved issues that haunted her day and night that she ought to have dealt with at this point in her adult life. But regardless of those issues, she _knew_ something was wrong with Mildred. She could _feel_ it.

Constance, at a complete loss, awkwardly reached out towards her colleague and gave her a firm pat on the shoulder. "There, there. Things will get better, or at least they will, ah, _neutralize_. That has been my experience."

Imogen almost wanted to laugh at Constance's pitiful attempt at comfort. _At least she tries. Maybe I was wrong about Medusa._ She opened her eyes, and hurriedly wiped her stray tears away with the sleeve of her jacket.

"I apologize, Miss Hardbroom. I shouldn't have called you abusive," Imogen said candidly, and forced herself to maintain eye contact with the intimidating woman standing in front of her, "and I do agree that I have some things in my past that need resolution. Regarding Mildred Hubble, however, I believe it is best that we agree to disagree," she felt proud of her mature statement, but that pride dampened a bit when she sniffled loudly a mere second after making it.

Constance nodded in her direction, "Well then, Miss Drill. I do have lesson plans I need to attend to."

Imogen nodded, turned, and left the potions classroom. Embarrassed of it as she was, the unexpected emotional release she had just experienced had felt liberating.

* * *

 _Throw away this very old shoelace_

 _That tripped you again_

 _Try and shrug it off, shrug it off_

 _It's only skin now_

 _You need to understand_

 _there's nothing fake about this_

 _You need to let me in_

 _I'll be watching you._

 _._

Authors Note: I take no ownership of the creative property of Jill Murphy or the band Our Lady Peace. For those who were wondering; this story will only be slightly canon with the second television season of the Worst Witch. Also, Mildred and Ms. Hardbroom are the eventual two protagonists in this story. Thank you for all the views. I have about nine chapters partially written at this point, they just need some editing and I will post them.


	3. Guilty Feet

_Chapter 3: Guilty Feet_

 **November 2** **nd** **, 1999**

 **11:02am**

Constance observed Mildred as she absentmindedly cut up ginger root for her potion. She could tell by how large the chunks were that her pupil had not been paying attention during her lecture on how to prepare the ingredients. Even though anything other than paper thin slices of ginger root would ruin Mildred's potion beyond repair, Constance repressed the urge to walk to the girl's desk and berate her for not adhering to the proper recipe.

 _I'm not getting soft, it's just that I can see how her injured wrist prevents her from gripping the knife properly._ Mildred had winced every time she locked her fingers around the handle of the large blade, and Constance noted that the girls right hand appeared to be larger than the other due to swelling. Though Imogen had expressed her concerns regarding Ms. Hubble's right hand, it simply was not enough for Constance to adopt the same suspicions as her younger colleague about the girls home life. Given that her pupil could barely stand to be yelled at; she highly doubted Mildred had the fortitude to endure any sort of physical trauma over a prolonged period of time without reporting it. _She villainizes every adult who attempts to_ _ **properly**_ _discipline her as is._

Constance Hardbroom considered herself to be a practical woman. A practical woman raised by a practical father; alcoholic though he was. She chose Potions as a specialty because; unlike most unpredictable types of magic; enchanted brews were assured to exert their promised effects if they were prepared according to _exact i_ nstructions. The quality of a Potion was directly proportional to the studious effort of the brewer; that was why Potions Marks, Constance believed, were the best reflection of the magical abilities of budding young witches.

Constance took pride in the painstaking amount of detail that went into her work, and that was precisely why she regarded the young Mildred Hubble with such derision. The girl was content to coast through her education with barely above average performance; only to be given superior marks at the end of each term based on one heroic deed. Seeing the kind of exceptions that were granted to the little vagrant frustrated Constance to no end.

 _And all the attention and praise she receives...such_ _ **lunacy**_. The only academic acknowledgement Constance had ever received throughout the course of her secondary and collegiate education had been Hecate Broomhead's intense and unforgiving scrutiny; despite the fact that Constance had graduated from Cackles Academy as the valedictorian and excessive self-discipline was a trait required for any witch-in-training to even be _considered_ for mentorship under Ms. Broomhead. Constance had been the only witch in Weirdsister history to maintain her apprenticeship under Hecate for four consecutive years; and neither her mentor nor her father had given her a modicum of praise beyond a simple head nod that indicated, "I expected nothing less from you."

Whilst Constance felt that the encouragement she had received in her younger years was lacking; she had never felt that she was _robbed_ of compliments. _Unlike Ms. Hubble, I am not so self-absorbed that I feel entitled to being showered by praise following every little accomplishment I make._

 **11:01pm**

Mildred lay awake; unable to effectively push down the tugging, uneasy emotions that tried to claw their way to the surface. Every time she closed her eyes, some sort of mental magnetism within her forced her to fixate on recent events.

Ever since the dodgeball incident with Ethel, her friends and teachers had been watching her very closely. Maud had incessantly questioned her about her well-being, Enid failed to look away fast enough for Mildred not to catch the worried glances she casted in her direction, Ms. Drill had been calculating her every action and spoken word, and Christ, earlier that afternoon in Potions, even _Ms. Hardbroom_ had been watching her so intently that she failed to reprimand her for nearly blowing up her cauldron.

 _Ms. Drill must have said something to her. It figures. The last person I want to suspect anything is the first person she went running to._ Mildred ran her fingers through her hair, tugging roughly on the strands. The intense scrutiny she had received over the past week was maddening, and she wanted it to stop.

 _I have to control myself more._ Mildred made herself a firm promise to focus all of her energy on modifyingher attitude, personality, and academic performance to reflect the 'Millie' that everyone had known her as during her first year. _It's the only way to avoid further prying._ Though Mildred felt satisfied that she had a solution to the problem that kept her awake, it took her two more hours to finally succumb to sleep.

 **November 6** **th** **, 1999**

 **05:37pm**

"Mildred!" Mildred mentally stumbled from her thoughts. Enid gave her a puzzled look. "You sure you're okay, Mildred?"

"I'm fine!" her face immediately brightened. Maud frowned as the bus they rode came to a gradual stop; signaling their arrival in Mistletoe Village.

Before Maud could respond, Ms. Drill's voice sounded from the front of the bus. "Now remember girls," the teacher announced from her position in the center of the aisle between the rows of seats, "the folks in this town are _non-magical_ , like me. We don't want them finding out that Cackles is anything more than an abandoned castle. So no talk about magical spells, flying, or anything magical. Got it?"

"Yes Ms. Drill," the bus of second year students answered her in unison.

Mildred made haste to exit the bus, she was delighted that they were on a field trip. Lately, Cackles had felt suffocating. _Or perhaps it's just the people there._

The group of girls had a lovely evening in the village; they explored several of the non-magical shops, looked upon the town's _hand-made_ Christmas decorations in wonder, and caused a bit of mayhem when they pelted each-other with snowballs in the middle of the sidewalk as they walked down the villages streets.

The local inhabitants looked upon the group of girls with slight curiosity, but did not question their presence. The town was a well-known tourist attraction during the holiday season; what was a more festive destination than a small, snow-covered village named after a Christmas decoration nestled deep in the middle of a forest?

 **08:11pm**

The girls agreed to eat dinner at _'_ Evergreen Eatery _'_ ; a small diner located at the north end of the villages main street. Mildred loved the atmosphere of the restaurant, it smelled of sweet bread and vanilla and was filled with the sound of clattering plates and the hearty laughter of the patrons sitting at the tables nearby. She was in such good spirits that she managed to eat _three-quarters_ of the shepherds pie she had ordered.

After her plate had been cleared, Mildred stood from the table and informed Enid & Maud she was headed to the restroom. There were three women ahead of her in the line, so she leaned the right side of her body against the wall and waited patiently.

"Hey there," a low voice from behind her sounded. She turned to face a handsome, ebony-haired man with green eyes.

"Y-yes?" Mildred answered awkwardly, color rising in her cheeks.

The man let out a low-pitched chuckle. "You are absolutely adorable when you smile. My name is Michael."

Mildred bit her bottom lip, and shook his extended hand. "M-Mildred. Mildred Hubble."

Michael gripped her hand firmly, "Lovely name. It's nice to meet you."

Mildred attempted to pull her hand back, but Michael didn't let go.

"It's nice to meet you too," Mildred said, "but I'd like my hand back." She hated how small her voice sounded.

Michael released her hand and said candidly, "Sorry, Mildred. I just got lost in the moment."

" _Baby, I'm so sorry," a pained, low-pitched voice said from above her._

 _Fingertips gently wiped away the tears spilling from Mildred's eyes. She struggled under the weight of a body, but she knew she couldn't escape. She sobbed._

" _I just got so_ _ **lost in the moment**_ _…"_

Mildred turned away from Michael, and ran out of the diner.

 **08:40pm**

"Mildred, _Mildred_ " an insistent voice sounded from above her. Her teeth chattered, her body shook. Her body was cold, but _she_ wasn't. She couldn't talk, move, or feel. She heard the voice say her name again, but she refused to acknowledge it. She would have smiled triumphantly if she had the ability.

 _I found my safe place, and you can't take me away from it. I'm not here. I'm not inside myself, and there's nothing you can do about it, asshole._

"MILDRED!" hands gripped her shoulders and shook her roughly.

Suddenly, Mildred felt as if she had been thrown into a lake of icy water. The shock of the freezing air took her from her safe place, and she was back inside of herself again. Panicking, she surveyed her environment, and met Ms. Drill's worried eyes. She was curled up into a ball on the snow-covered ground, her lower back pressed uncomfortably against the trunk of a large oak tree just outside of the diner.

 _Oh shit._

"Ms. Drill," she said weakly.

"Mildred…I couldn't find you…"

"I went outside.." Mildred began, exhaling a cloud of crystallized air, "I just wanted to sit in the snow for a moment. I guess the cold got the better of me."

"You were staring blankly at nothing," Imogen responded pointedly, wrapping a strong arm around her students upper back and helping her to her feet, "and you told your friends you were going to the restroom. What _really_ happened, Mildred?"

 _A man named Michael…then nothing._

"I _did_ go to the restroom," Mildred insisted, a feeling of panic washing over her as she realized she truly didn't know how she came to be outside.

"And then you came _out here_?" Imogen said disbelievingly, and shook her head.

"Yes, Miss. I _swear_ ," Mildred said in the most innocent voice she could manage.

"We were all very frightened, Mildred," the older woman said softly.

"I'm really _sorry,_ Miss. I didn't mean to frighten you."

Ms. Drill said nothing. She maintained a tight grip on her pupils shoulders, and led her towards the entrance of the diner.

 **10:48pm**

Amelia Cackles opened her office door with great reluctance, she had barely drifted off into dreamland before she heard Imogen's insistent knocking.

Entirely unsympathetic to the headmistress' exhaustion, Imogen began her worried rant mere seconds after she entered Amelia's private quarters. "Mildred had an episode in Mistletoe Village. We were all eating at a local diner when she got up to use the restroom. After twenty-five minutes, Ms. Moonshine and Ms. Nightshade went to the facilities to check on her, and came back worried to death because she wasn't there. I paid the bill immediately, and told the remainder of the girls to check different areas of the restaurant for her. I went outside, and almost immediately I found her, curled up into a ball underneath a tree. I tried to get her to talk to me, but she just sat there staring blankly into the distance. It was a good ten minutes before she came to, and said that she was sorry, she must have wandered outside and the 'cold had gotten the better of her'."

Amelia rubbed her tired eyes, and sat down in the armchair next to her bed. "That is worrisome, Imogen. I will give you that."

" _Worrisome?_ " the younger woman responded incredulously, "Amelia, I think that something must have triggered a past trauma. That's the only explanation."

Amelia sighed exasperatedly. "Imogen, while I am as disturbed as you are about what you have described, I do not know if that behavior necessarily indicates she is in danger at home. You have already asked her and she has denied having problems."

"The girl was _completely_ absent, Amelia," Imogen insisted, "I know _firsthand_ what kind of things can make a person prone to dissociate like that. There's no other explanation other than trauma, at home or otherwise. _Something_ has happened to her."

Amelia regarded her employee for a moment. She knew that Imogen came from a painful past, so she hesitated to assume that Mildred Hubble's situation was suspect. But an episode of dissociation was serious, and she would not take that lightly.

"Imogen," the headmistress said firmly, "I will _not_ run an abuse diagnostic on a student unless I believe it is _absolutely_ warranted. However, I do concede that the girl's episode earlier this evening is a grave matter. As such, I will make an appointment to speak with her myself early next week."

Imogen's shoulders slumped. _Well, at least that's_ _ **something**_ _._

* * *

 **November 7** **th** **, 1999**

 **07:02pm**

 _ **Ms. Hubble,**_

 _ **I hope that the winter term has been going splendid for you my dear girl. I would like to meet with you next week. Please come to my office this Tuesday evening at 7pm.**_

 _ **Warm Regards,**_

 _ **Amelia Cackles**_

 _ **Headmistress of Cackles Academy**_

Mildred crumpled up the note she had received with disgust. Despite the cheery overtones in Ms. Cackles message, she knew that she was likely to be subject to an inquisition by yet another _concerned_ adult.

 _Why can't they all just leave me be? It's not like I was sitting out there in the snow long enough to die of frostbite._ Mildred looked up, and saw Maud & Enid approaching the dining table. She subtlety tossed the parchment that was balled up in her hands onto the floor.

 **09:11pm**

Mildred arched her back as the warm water cascaded over her body. She wished the relief the shower brought her muscles would bring the same amount of relief to her apprehensive thoughts. _What does Ms. Cackles want? She's not going to investigate, is she? Ask me to talk to a therapist? I won't do it, they_ _ **can't**_ _make me._

"You think too much.." she whispered to herself. Mildred pinched her wrist in a futile attempt to stop her racing mind. It didn't work. She violently threw open the shower curtain, and fervently reached into the school robes that were hung from a silver hook on the nearby wall. She searched the robes inner pocket with a wet hand until she found the familiar, small plastic box.

 **09:14pm**

Mildred winced as the razorblade sliced the skin stretched over her hipbone, and a peaceful feeling washed over her as the physiological signals hit the appropriate target receptors in her brain and made her completely unaware of anything other than the sharp pain. Blood travelled from the slightly deep laceration and wept crimson down her thighs. She disposed of the blade quickly, and allowed the hot water of the shower to sting the fresh injury until all of the red liquid was washed away.

After her shower, she took her time drying herself with a worn bath towel. Each time the roughly textured cloth brushed the wound on her hip, she smiled. She loved the rapture of the external ache; the constellation of painful throbs that banished all of her worries to the back of her mind. Ignoring the sharp pangs of hunger in her stomach, she climbed into bed.

When Mildred finally slipped away into the abyss of deep slumber, tremors wracked her body. Whether from her sheer exhaustion or the bitter November cold that seeped its way into the room through the open bedside window; it wasn't apparent. Just a delayed physical reaction that played itself out in her sleep.

* * *

 **November 9** **th** **, 1999**

 **07:38am**

Mildred's stomach grumbled, but the toast slathered with margarine and grease-soaked bacon on the table before her looked nauseating. She hadn't eaten since the class dinner in Mistletoe Village, and she wasn't intent on starting that morning.

She started slightly when she felt Maud sit down next to her. She flashed her friend a weak smile. She wasn't in the mood for conversation, it wasn't like she had anything to say. She was irritated, exhausted, and wanted to be nothing more than a shadow in the presence of other people's lives; something that they saw but didn't acknowledge.

"Good morning," Maud said curtly, and turned away from Mildred to pile food onto her empty plate.

Mildred sighed in relief. _I've fully escaped engaging in morning small talk._ A mere second later, as if the universe _wanted_ to make a cruel joke out of her life, her best friend addressed her.

"Why don't you have some breakfast, Mildred?" Maud said.

"I'm really not too hungry, Maud," Mildred replied nervously. The way her friend held her gaze made her extremely uncomfortable.

"Funny," Maud said, irritation evident in her tone, "You're _never_ really too hungry. Explains why you've probably lost two stone in the past month."

Mildred narrowed her eyes and picked up a piece of bacon off of Maud's plate. She bit off a piece, chewed dramatically, and swallowed it, hiding her disgust the whole time. " _Satisfied?_ " she hissed.

Maud looked visibly stung.

 _Well there goes your self-control. Real nice job._ The tone of Mildred's inner voice dripped with self-reproach.

"Okay, Mildred," her friend said softly, "I get the point. I'll drop it."

Maud didn't say much else to her throughout the remainder of breakfast, but that was kind of the point. Mildred had wanted to offend her just enough so she would be angry and back off, but not to the point where she'd stop being her friend.

Despite achieving the desired result, she couldn't shake the feeling of guilt that accompanied what she had just done. It had been so _conniving_ of her, so _dirty_ of her to manipulate Maud and her emotions like that.

 _I don't_ _ **deserve**_ _to eat._

 **10:29am**

Mildred, Enid, & Maud were sitting at their desks in the Potions classroom awaiting Ms. Hardbrooms arrival when the sound of Ethel's shrill voice arose from behind them.

"Idiot one, idiot two, _and_ idiot three," Ethel smirked as Enid's face turned red with rage, "I'm so glad you're alright, _Mildred_ " she paused for a moment, "Your little freak out on the trip gave us all quite a scare. Although, it would have been better for us if you had stayed out in the cold just a _bit_ longer."

"Ethel, you're such a _bitch_!" Enid hissed.

"MS. NIGHTSHADE!" Constance Hardbrooms ear-shattering shout came from the back of the classroom, "detention tonight, with me, for using such a despicable slur against Ms. Hallow."

Enid glared at Ethel as the latter girl arrogantly strode over to her desk. Mildred stared straight ahead at the wall. She had been listening to the ordeal, but found no reason to partake in it. Sure, she wanted to slug Ethel in the face, but that would only add to the problems she already had.

 **11:02am**

Constance felt vaguely disturbed by Mildred's disinterest in her friend's punishment. Usually, Ms. Hubble would get up in arms about her disciplining a close friend, _especially_ when that discipline was handed out in lieu of a conversation with Ms. Ethel Hallow.

She watched the raven-haired girl make her way to her lab station. She wavered slightly after every few steps and had to steady herself multiple times by gripping the corner of the nearest table. _Is the insufferable child feigning illness to get out of brewing the assigned potion_?

Mildred turned towards the front of the classroom after depositing her book-bag on the floor, and Constance noted her sheet-white complexion and unfocused gaze. Given her protruding cheek bones and loose-fitting clothing it was clear that the young witch had lost weight. She strode towards the girl, who took a moment to acknowledge her presence. When fatigue-ridden eyes rose to meet hers, Constance spoke.

"Ms. Hubble, you are not well."

It was a statement, not a question. Mildred nodded in assent, knowing that the form mistress had a superior ability to see through lies.

"Please go to your dormitory and lay down. Consider consulting the headmistress for a physician's visit if your _condition_ persists." _Because I certainly cannot have a sickly miscreant handling caustic ingredients in my lab, now or in the future._

"Y-yes Miss," Mildred answered softly. She looked relieved.

"Run along, then," the older woman said dismissively.

Mildred strapped her bag over her shoulder, and turned to leave.

Constance's brow furrowed as she watched the girl slowly make her way out of the classroom. The uneven steps, the gaunt appearance, the labored breathing. What could it mean?

 _It is nothing to be concerned about. No doubt, a_ _ **valid**_ _excuse to leave class must be a dream come true for her._

 **10:32pm**

Exasperated, Mildred rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands. Despite the fact that insufficient sleep had plagued her every night of the past week; she was not tired enough to drift off and quiet the intrusive replay of the days events in her mind. After Ms. Hardbroom had asked her to leave Potions, she had made her way to her dormitory room and slept for about an hour. Though her bed had been hard to abandon, Mildred knew she would perturb Enid and Maud further if she wasn't present for lunch.

As expected, at lunch Maud had started in on Mildred about her health and that it was imperative that she see a physician as soon as possible. She had fervently agreed despite having no such intention, and even forced herself to _apologize_ to Maud for not listening to her earlier. Maud seemed content with her promise to get her health concerns addressed, while Enid had just averted her gaze and nodded curtly, suggesting that the latter girl did not believe her.

A sudden anger sparked within Mildred. _How **dare** they? These are __**my**_ _issues,_ _ **my**_ _business, and they have_ _ **no**_ _right to think or care about what's going on in_ _ **my**_ _life._ Mildred sighed and inwardly scolded herself, knowing how immature that mental assertion had been.

A sudden rap on her dormitory door startled her out of her thoughts.

"Who is it?" Mildred called out, not particularly pleased to have a visitor that late in the evening.

"Ms. Hubble, It is Ms. Hardbroom," said a prim voice on the other side of the door.

 _I must have really looked sick if the Wicked Witch of the West is coming to check on me._

"Come in," Mildred said, uncomfortable with the prospect of the teacher that lived to torment her seeing her private quarters.

Ms. Hardbroom swept into her room. She gave Mildred a prompt once-over before speaking.

"How are you faring, Ms. Hubble?" the older witch asked, staring intently at the ceiling as if Mildred's dormitory was the last place in the world she wanted to be.

"I'm faring great," Mildred said quickly, "uhm- I mean, well. I went to lunch and ate, and after that I started to feel much better. I haven't eaten much over the past day, so it was probably hunger that made me look sick." _I didn't eat a thing, but there's no way she can find out otherwise._

Ms. Hardbroom crossed her arms and fixed her with a searching look, "If that is the case, Ms. Hubble, I would urge you to be more _responsible_ about caring for your physical well-being."

"Yes, Miss" Mildred said, lacing her voice with humility, "I certainly learned my lesson today."

Ms. Hardbroom looked at her like she had grown three heads.

An awkward silence settled between the two. "Very well then, Ms. Hubble," Ms. Hardbroom said after a moment, "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Miss," Mildred replied, but her professor had left her room so abruptly that she was not there to hear her.

Mildred fell back onto her pillow, and pulled the bedsheet over her head.

 _That was the easiest conversation I've had about my_ _ **well-being**_ _all week._

* * *

 **November 10** **th** **, 1999**

 **03:49pm**

Despite the sub-zero temperature outside, Mildred's metabolic rate was in overdrive. Profuse amounts of sweat made the inner linings of her gym class tracksuit cling to the skin of her arms and legs. She grimaced at the unpleasant sensation as she rounded the academy courtyard for the third time. _Only one more lap._

"Excellent girls, Excellent!"

Mildred tried to drown out Ms. Drill's overenthusiastic cheers; her senses were already overwhelmed and any further stimulation of them threatened to allow her escalating vertigo to render her unconscious.

Halfway through her final lap, the black spots that had been dancing in front of her eyes throughout the entire exercise converged and completely blinded her. She lost control of her legs and crumpled to the ground. She attempted to re-orient herself by drawing a deep breath into her burning lungs. She fainted seconds later, her spine colliding with the wet cobblestones beneath her.

 **03:53pm**

"Mildred, can you hear me?" Ms. Drill leaned over her unconscious pupil, using two fingers to feel for a pulse through the soft skin under her jawline while simultaneously bringing her ear close to the girls lips to listen for breath sounds. To Imogens relief, the girl was breathing, but her heart rate was dangerously slow; beating only fifty-six times over 60 seconds.

"Millie!" Maud Moonshine shrieked, running over to Imogen. She collapsed onto her knees on the other side of Mildred, her face ashen.

"What the _hell_ happened now?" Enid Nightshade yelled from behind Maud, staring intensely down at Mildred over her friends shoulder.

"I saw her fall to her knees and collapse," Imogen told the girls hurriedly, "I'm not sure what caused it."

Enid closed her eyes and took a deep breath in through her nose, then shook her head vehemently. "We tried to tell her to eat something. She _told_ us she was going to talk to a doctor."

"How long has she gone without eating?" Imogen said urgently, moving Mildred into her lap so the icy water on the ground did not soak through her clothes.

"I haven't seen her eat since we were at the village," Enid said pointedly, drawing her mouth into a scowl. "I don't know why she's so bloody intent on killing herself."

"Mm-M-miss…" Mildred groaned from Imogen's lap, her eyes weakly fluttering open.

"Mildred, dear. You're alright," Ms. Drill said gently, assuming the girl would be terrified. Contrary to that assumption, however, the moment the feeble girl took in her surroundings she rolled herself off of her teachers lap and pushed herself up to a sitting position.

Imogen placed a hand on her shoulder, and Mildred swiftly pushed it off. "What happened?" she asked, looking at her two friends.

"You fainted, that's _what,_ " Enid snapped, shocking both Maud and Mildred with her acerbic tone.

"Mildred, were you _ever_ going to see a doctor?" Maud implored softly, the lenses of her glasses magnifying the tears glimmering in her hazel eyes.

Imogen, foreseeing the predictable escalation of the situation before her, interjected. "Mildred, you are coming with me to the headmistresses' office, right now. This is _not_ negotiable."

Mildred turned to look at her. "Whatever you say, Ms. Drill," the girl replied with feigned submissiveness, the defiant gleam in her eyes directly contradicting the sickeningly sweet smile she had contorted her mouth to form.

"Maud, if you would please," Imogen said purposefully, "fetch a stretcher from the infirmary so I can safely transport Mildred to the headmistress' office."

With rigid determination, Mildred pulled herself to her feet. "Miss, I can walk on my own. Thank you." Maud eyed her friend wearily, moving behind her to catch her if she fell. Enid rolled her eyes.

"Mildred, I'm not at all comfortable-"

"I don't really think you can _force_ me to get on a stretcher like some sort of invalid," Mildred interrupted her acidly.

Imogen pursed her lips into a thin line. "Very well, then. We will both make our way to Ms. Cackles' office on foot. I will walk behind you as a precaution."

Mildred nodded slowly, and turned towards the castle.

Imogen followed her student, glaring ferociously at the young girls back. The girl was so damn _stubborn!_

 **04:18pm**

Mildred fidgeted nervously in the headmistress' entrance room. She felt a bit dizzy, but nothing that a few biscuits at dinner couldn't fix. _I can't keep starving myself_ _ **indefinitely,**_ _after all._

After what seemed like hours, Amelia Cackles poked her head out of her office door to beckon her inside. "Mildred, if you could come into my office, I would appreciate it."

Mildred reluctantly trudged into Amelia's office. Dread filled her as if she was being marched to the gallows, and Ms. Drill's presence only served to exacerbate that feeling. She awkwardly settled into the chair opposite the headmistress' desk.

"Mildred," Amelia said carefully, "It seems that Ms. Drill here believes that your syncopal episode earlier today was the result of malnourishment."

Mildred shrugged.

"Therefore, I would like to run a nutritional diagnostic on you," Amelia tried her best to sound casual, but when she saw the brief flash of anxiety in her students eyes she knew that her face had betrayed her apprehension.

"Okay, Miss," Mildred said disinterestedly. There was no point in arguing, she was likely to be forced into complying if she resisted. And resistance would only arouse further suspicion.

"Alright then, Mildred," Amelia said gently, "Please stand up. And close your eyes."

Mildred obeyed. When she stood, she made herself go rigid in a fervent attempt to prevent the two women from seeing how badly she shook.

" _Metaboli Revelio_ "

Mildred felt an odd tingling sensation in her gut that quickly spread throughout the rest of her body. After a moment, she heard a sharp intake of breath. Then a pause.

"Mildred, you may open your eyes. Please sit down."

Mildred did as she was told.

"Mildred…according to this diagnostic," Ms. Cackles gestured to the piece of parchment she held in her hand, covered in writing Mildred assumed must have been elicited by the spell, "it appears you haven't eaten for nearly _four_ days."

Another shrug.

"Mildred, _why?_ " the older witch probed.

"I wasn't hungry."

"Mildred…..this is very serious," Ms. Cackles asserted, "I am at a loss as to why you would so wantonly disregard proper self-care."

"I'm _fine_ , headmistress," Mildred said firmly.

"Anyone can see that you are not, Mildred," Ms. Cackles retorted sharply.

" _What do you want from me?_ " Mildred demanded with a deepening growl, "do you want me to see a physician? Because I'll see a physician. He'll just tell you the same thing I'm telling you, that I'm in perfectly good health and just need to eat more."

"Mildred; I am concerned about your mental health as well. Whatever is going on is clearly more than physical."

"And how, pray tell, did you come to _that_ conclusion?" Mildred bit out, turning accusing eyes to her blue-and-white clad physical education teacher.

"Mildred," Ms. Drill said unflinchingly, "even your friends were concerned enough to communicate to me that they have been concerned about your health as of late, and you redirect the conversation whenever they try to address that with you. I know that you would like to think that you can deal with everything by yourself, but it is apparent that the way you choose to handle things alone is _incredibly_ self-destructive."

"I have been alone my _entire life_!" Mildred shouted, her self-containment in ruins, "I have been taking care of things by myself for a very long time. My health, my happiness, my education. I haven't needed or seen any therapists or any doctors, _ever!_ And I think I've done a bloody fine job! _I'M NOT DEAD, AM I?_ "

The two older women exchanged meaningful glances. Ms. Cackles cleared her throat, and pushed her horn-rimmed glasses up the bridge of her nose.

"You've _never_ seen a doctor, Mildred?"

Mildred went very, very still.

"Why is that?"

Mildred kept her mouth shut.

"Mildred, not even as a toddler?"

Mildred sighed. _Well the proverbial cat is out of the bag now, isn't it?_ She shook her head very slowly.

"Oh, _Mildred,_ " Ms. Cackles said sadly. Mildred heard the headmistress tut softly and let out a few erratic breaths, presumably trying not to cry. She very much wanted to melt into the carpet and disappear.

"I have to call the wizarding physician," Ms. Cackles continued, "and he will do a general health check-up. As well as an…an…a-abuse diagnostic."

Mildreds shoulders slumped in defeat. "Do what you have to do."

* * *

 _I respect my elders,_

 _so I do as I'm told  
But I've offset the bell curve when I do it with soul_

 _losin' control  
Guilty feet __**do**_ _have rhythm_ _…._

 _They just dance to the wrong theme music to amuse the villain._

* * *

Authors Note: I take no ownership of the creative property of Jill Murphy or Sage Francis. If anyone has any feedback about how true to character I am staying, I would greatly appreciate it. Part of me hasn't felt on point, but I guess that's because TWW is intended to be a lighthearted show and the content of this story is anything but that. Mildred and Ms. Hardbroom interact **much** more in Chapter Four. I just have a few technicalities I have to work out with it before I post.

German Girl: Thank you for the wonderful review. It warmed my heart.


	4. Fuels the Fire

_Chapter 4: Fuels the Fire_

 **November 10th, 1999**

 **05:00pm**

"Dr. Grisham!" Amelia Cackles said warmly, greeting the middle-aged, bespectacled wizard physician that stood in her office waiting room with an embrace.

"Amelia, it is a pleasure to see you again," Dr. Grisham kissed the top of her hand like a proper gentleman. "What can I do for you?"

The headmistress ensured that the door to her office was tightly shut before responding in a grave tone, "I have a student here that needs a general health check-up run, as well as an abuse diagnostic."

Dr. Grisham raised his eyebrows, surprised. He had expected to be called upon to address yet _another_ case of the non-magical flu, one virus that no magical potion had been able to successfully treat. He understood the magical community's reluctance to keep non-magical medications in stock, but it would save him forty or so odd trips during October and November of each year if the Wizarding Magistrate made it compulsory for Magical Academies to annually supply themselves with a case of broad-spectrum antibiotics in their emergency storerooms.

"Dr. Grisham?"

The man shook his head, "Yes, Amelia. I apologize. I was just not expecting that type of call."

She looked at him sadly. "Understandable. I was not expecting to have to make it."

"For these types of situations and the privacy laws that surround them, I am required to take the student in question to my office for the abuse diagnostic," Dr. Grisham explained, "I can materialize her there if she holds onto my arm. Getting her there will be the _only_ easy part of this inquiry, however."

 **05:48pm**

"How's that feel, Mildred?" Mildred looked up into the kind, crystal blue eyes of Dr. Grisham as he taped the small catheter he had just inserted into her vein to the inside of her right elbow.

"It's fine," she said quietly, shivering a bit as she felt the strange sensation of cold saline flow into her bloodstream. She was dressed in scrub bottoms and a loose-fitting, long-sleeved white cotton shirt; compliments of the Doctor. He'd also given her several granola bars, which she had practically inhaled. She'd never admit it, but the warm, dry clothing and the food in her stomach had her feeling better than she had in days.

Mildred looked around Dr. Grisham's furniture-bare back office; the walls were painted a putrid shade of yellow that clashed with the bright aqua-colored curtains that were drawn half-way around her hospital bed. _Did Ms. Bat help him with the décor?_

She laced her fingers together tightly, considering her situation. The man was nice enough, she knew he was just doing his job, but the mere fact that she was about to undergo an examination that she had been so ferociously trying to avoid made her feel so _violated_. The physician had already run a general check-up on her, and aside from malnourishment and a below average baseline blood pressure; he had found nothing particularly wrong with her.

"Now, Mildred," Dr. Grisham said gently, "I'm not going to run any diagnostic on you without first telling you precisely what it will tell me."

"I _know_ ," she replied exasperatedly, "You told me that already. You just don't need my _consent_ for the next one, do you?"

The middle-aged physician sighed slightly, but affirmed her statement. "That is true, Mildred. You are a minor, and per Magical Law cannot be relied upon to make health care decisions for yourself."

"Well, go _on_ then," Mildred said harshly, "let's get this over with."

"We will, Mildred," he said quietly, "I just need to inform you about the specifics of this diagnostic. Much like the nutritional diagnostic that your headmistress ran on you earlier this afternoon; you will be required to stand and may feel a strange sensation in your body when the diagnostic enchantment is cast. Depending on the amount of information it elicits, the diagnostic analysis can take anywhere from 30 seconds to two minutes. The results will appear on the piece of parchment I am holding in my hand; and will consist of a chronological list of every injury you have incurred at the hands of others throughout your life."

Mildred felt ill. _The only good thing about this is that he won't find out about any_ _ **self-**_ _inflicted injuries. I don't want to be sent off to a mental ward._

"Mildred, do you understand?"

"Yes, I understand. I'm ready," Mildred said heavily, and wiped her sweat-drenched palms onto the fabric of her scrub bottoms.

"Splendid. Please stand up, Mildred. Mind the line in your arm," Dr. Grisham said neutrally.

Mildred stood. Her legs felt like lead.

" _Abūsīvus Revelius_ "

 **06:02pm**

After completing the diagnostic, Dr. Grisham had told Mildred to lay down for about half an hour, as the enchantment had a tendency to drain its targets energy. He had then made his way to the desk in the front room of his practice to process what he had just discovered.

Contradictory to his prior mental musings, Dr. Grisham _wished_ he had been called to Cackles Academy that day to treat a simple case of the non-magical flu. The piece of parchment before him was completely covered in black-script that outlined the horrid, traumatic history of the young girl in his back office:

 _June 7th, 1990 – Scaphoid fracture of the right wrist; inflicted due to hand catching body weight after blunt force trauma to the back_

 _***note: non-union fracture due to improper healing; resulting in right ulnar deviation and lateral bone spur formation on scaphoid bone (June 12_ _th_ _, 1991)_

 _September 10th, 1990 – Five circular second degree burns inferior to the right scapula; inflicted by lit cigarette_

 _October 21_ _st_ _, 1990 – 12 lacerations across upper back, inflicted by tearing and shearing force of belt buckle._

 _November 8_ _th_ _, 1990 - spiral fracture of the left humerus, inflicted by twisting force_

 _January 8_ _th_ _, 1991 – three crescent-shaped abdominal bruises; two in left upper quadrant and one in right upper quadrant. Inflicted by forceful blunt impact; toe of a boot._

 _March 28_ _th_ _, 1991 – Pattern bruising (loop marks) of the posterior aspect of right and left thighs; inflicted by doubled-over extension cord_

 _July 5_ _th_ _, 1991 – Vertical bruises along left gluteal cleft secondary to shearing damage to vessels along convex curvature of left buttocks; inflicted by high-velocity slap._

 _July 20_ _th_ _, 1991 – Scalding to all aspects of lower torso and all aspects of left and right thighs with zebra stripe pattern; inflicted by forceful immersion in hot water_

Dr. Grisham steadied his shaking hands. The severity of the documented injuries got worse with each progressive year; but he had to suppress the urge to retch when he began to read the section from the summer of 1999.

 **06:41pm**

Mildred involuntarily flinched when she heard Dr. Grisham's approaching footsteps.

"Mildred?" he said tentatively.

"I'm awake, you can come in," she said, unsure of herself. She was so embarrassed. _What he must have found out…_

Dr. Grisham pulled back the curtain. He looked like he had aged about ten years over the past twenty minutes.

"Well?" Mildred asked, fixating on the silver strands peppered throughout his dark brown hair that gleamed under the fluorescent light above him.

"Mildred, to say the least, the abuse diagnostic was very revealing," the physician said with an air of forced professionalism, "and I will be making a call to the Magical Protection Board immediately to have you removed from the custody of your parents. Additionally, I will recommend that the Wizarding Magistrate put out a warrant for their arrest. The results of the examination I performed today will be submitted to both legislative institutions as evidence."

Mildred's stomach did a somersault. It was a lot to take in. She felt angry, powerless, vulnerable, and incredibly guilty.

"Will they hurt my parents?" Mildred asked softly, and twisted the tie of her scrub bottoms around her fingers.

"No, Mildred. It doesn't work like that…" Dr. Grisham took a moment to deliberate over his choice of words, "but I have to be frank; that piece of parchment in my office that details the abuse that you suffered is _incontrovertible_ evidence of child endangerment. They will without a doubt be found guilty at their hearing; and face a long term of imprisonment…perhaps even life imprisonment."

A hot lump burned in Mildred's throat. "H-hearing?"

"Yes, Mildred. What they did to you was _criminal._ You may even testify, if you wish to do so."

" _NO!_ " Mildred screamed, petrified. The mere thought of having to talk about those _things_ in explicit detail before a group of people she barely knew….

"Mildred, that is quite alright," Dr. Grisham said unflinchingly, maintaining a cool demeanor, "but I would suggest that you speak with someone about the experiences you have had at their hands."

Mildred was overcome with a sudden urge to throttle the man before her. "I will do _no such thing,_ " she snarled, "and no one can force me to, _minor_ or not."

The man nodded with a look of such understanding in his eyes that Mildred wanted to scream.

"You are correct, Mildred. You do not have to disclose anything to anyone, per Magical Law. The details of what I have discovered today will be kept private; with the exception of being used as evidence to justify your removal from your home and criminal charges brought against your parents."

Mildred felt her mounting displeasure plateau. "So…Ms. Cackles? Ms. Drill? They don't have to know?"

"No one, save me and the proper legal authorities, have to know."

"Good, that's good." Mildred said, and the knot in her stomach untied itself.

"Now, Ms. Hubble," Dr. Grisham said calmly, "as most of the injuries you have incurred are healed, I do not have to keep you here much longer. But I do know a spell that will properly re-set the bones in your right wrist."

Wordlessly, Mildred held out her right hand. Despite all that was brewing inside of her, she was primarily overcome with a strong sense of relief. She had not expected that.

* * *

 **November 14** **th** **, 1999**

 **06:32am**

Mildred awoke with a start. Breathing hard, she clutched her comforter tightly and pulled it up around her chin. Her forehead was plastered with sweat, her bangs were soaked and stuck unpleasantly to the side of her face. She couldn't for the life of her remember the dream, but she recognized the unclean feeling that pulsated throughout her body. She took a few deep breaths: _in through your nose, out through your mouth…breathe…calm down…it will be over soon…_

After several minutes, Mildred had managed to relax herself enough so that she could get out of bed. As she dressed, the prospect of the oncoming day felt progressively less foreboding. She was content in knowing that her upcoming interaction with Enid & Maud at the breakfast table would not be fettered with tense silence. After she had told her two best friends that she had seen a physician, and Maud had confirmed that with Ms. Drill (to her great irritation), they had resumed treating her like a normal human being. They had even started telling _jokes_ in her presence, for Gods sake. As she expected, they had questioned her about the details of the physicians visit, and she had set a firm boundary and told them it was _not_ something she was ready to discuss. As disappointed as they were, they respected her boundary and she was immensely grateful to them for that.

"Mildred! _Mildred!_ " Enid's insistent voice came through her dormitory door.

"Five more minutes!" she yelled back, pulling her gray stockings up to her knees.

"Oh, come on" Enid said, annoyed, "we have class all day. It's not like I want to go either."

"Just give me a moment to dress, Enid" Mildred retorted. She pulled on her black cardigan, and smiled blissfully when the fabric brushed her left wrist. She looked at her wrist and smiled. Eight deep red scratches were criss-crossed beautifully across her pale white skin. She fingered them slowly.

When Enid's impatient voice rang yet again on the other side of the door, she suppressed the desire to further admire her self-inflicted artwork and left her room to join her friend at breakfast.

 **10:51am**

"Mildred Hubble, are you content in simply _daydreaming_ away an opportunity to learn?" Ms. Hardbrooms voice startled Mildred; she hadn't realized she had been lost in thought for as long as she had.

She looked up at her professor and said quietly, "No Miss, Sorry Miss."

Constance huffed. "I do find your contrition hard to believe," she snapped, "as you lose yourself in mental fantasies during almost _every_ class."

Mildred heard Ethel snicker. She looked away from her Professor and shrugged.

Constance shook her head. "Your idiocy never ceases to amaze me, Mildred Hubble."

Several of the girls gasped. Mildred expected a burning to rise in her cheeks, or even spiteful words to make their way out of her mouth. Instead, her face maintained its deadened expression, and she continued to stare vacantly and disinterestedly at her professor.

Constance narrowed her eyes at Mildred. She had expected _something_ from that comment. Perhaps she had stepped over the line, but she had wanted the girl to stop looking so despondent. It unsettled her.

Mildred's face remained blank. _I need my blade. I wish I had my blade._

 **03:28pm**

Imogen Drill eyed Mildred speculatively as she conversed cheerfully with her two best friends. The girls were _supposed_ to be doing sit-ups, but that didn't matter to Imogen. All that mattered to her was the fact that Mildred was safe, and would not be returning home.

When Dr. Grisham had returned with her pupil, he had informed her and the headmistress that Mildred had been removed from the legal custody of her parents and was a legal ward of the Wizarding Magistrate until an appropriate placement could be found for her. He had also told them, with the girl present, that she could not be legally compelled to disclose any of the results of the abuse diagnostic unless she wished. Imogen thought that wise, pushing the girl to discuss private details of her life before she was ready would surely result in her losing what little trust in authority figures she had left.

Mildred had barely acknowledged her or the headmistress' presence upon returning from Dr. Grishams office, giving them blunt, one-worded answers when they had asked her how she was feeling. It hadn't wounded the gym mistress in the slightest, for she had expected that.

Mildred was protected from the danger of her parents, and all Imogen could hope for was that the girl would no longer pose a danger to herself _._

* * *

 **November 19** **th** **, 1999**

 **11:08 am**

 _Potions._ Mildred stared irately into her cauldron, which was filled with a horrible-smelling yellow concoction. _Just another thing I screw up._ Thanksgiving approached, and the more she heard her classmates talk excitedly about plans with their families, the more she wanted to poison herself. Even if Ms. Drill hadn't intervened, she had nothing _real_ to go home to.

She broke herself out of her dark inner monologue when she sensed her professors approach. " _Ms. Hubble_ ," Constance said, in a disgusted tone, "it seems that your _failure to pay attention_ has manifested itself in physical form." Mildred would have opened her mouth to protest, but she knew it wasn't worth it, and that for whatever reason, her Professor _wanted_ her to react.

"So extremely careless," Constance continued, "throwing away an opportunity to learn when there are some children in this world who have no such opportunity. Your utter selfishness, Ms. Hubble, is deplorable."

Maud shot to her feet, face red. Before she could open her mouth, however, Mildred spoke. "Don't waste your breath, Maud. She's not worth it. Her lies aren't worth it."

The calm tone the girl used infuriated her professor. Mildred wasn't _supposed_ to act like a zombie, she was supposed to be her _normal_ , inattentive, carefree self. " _MILDRED HUBBLE!_ " Constance barked.

"What?" Mildred flinched imperceptibly, but she flinched nonetheless. She had mastered the art of suppression, however, and managed to look at her professor blankly.

"How _dare_ you use such disrespect towards me?" Constance hissed. She loathed unreadable expressions.

"You started it," Mildred said grimly.

"Your lack of aptitude is only rivalled by your lack of maturity" Constance spat, "I cannot expect you to behave like a proper young woman. Not only are you an abysmal student, but you conduct yourself like a child. Unlike a child, however, you are most certainly _not_ innocent."

Mildred closed her eyes.

" _You are nothing more than a child, but you are_ _ **not innocent.**_ _You have destroyed this entire family…" agony overwhelmed her, she begged for it to stop. Her tears ran onto the cold tile floor and she could smell her own flesh burning…_

Mildred bit back a scream. She clenched her fists in a determined effort to prevent her memory from eliciting fear. She was so fed up with the damn flashbacks. She was _not_ going to let herself feel afraid.

Mildred forced herself to open her eyes. The only alternative she had to terror was anger, and she focused on the sneering face of her form mistress to fuel it.

"You don't really expect much of anything from me, do you Miss Hardbroom?" Mildred said in a low, dangerous voice.

Constance's eyes narrowed. "I can't say you've given me much to work with, have you, Ms. Hubble?"

Mildred stood. She bit her tongue to keep herself from responding. She had to get out of that classroom to let the rage take its course, preferably by pummeling her fist repeatedly into a wall until her knuckles bled. She knew that if her ire surfaced in the presence of the infernal woman before her, she was likely to act in a way she would later regret.

Mildred began to clean her lab station.

Constance bristled. "What _exactly_ do you think you are doing?"

"Leaving," Mildred responded in as casual a tone as she could manage. She wiped the ingredient residue off of her used cutting board with vigor.

"Sit _down,_ Ms. Hubble!" Constance demanded.

Mildred ignored her. She placed her folded potions notes into her book bag, and put the bag strap over her shoulder.

"Mildred Hubble, you will _do as I say_ and SIT DOWN!"

" _ **Do as I say**_ _, sweetheart. Be a good girl and_ _ **do as I say**_ _. That's it, don't tense up now…"_

Something inside of Mildred snapped.

" _FUCK_ YOU!" she roared across the room, the look in her eyes murderous. Her startled form mistress took a step back.

Before Ms. Hardbroom could regain her composure, Mildred yelled, "I DON'T CARE ABOUT YOUR PERMISSION. I DON'T CARE WHAT YOU THINK OF ME. YOU WANT TO KNOW WHY? BECAUSE EVEN IF I WAS THE PERFECT STUDENT, YOU'D STILL FIND A REASON TO HATE ME SINCE SOMEONE AS BLOODY MISERABLE AS _YOU_ WILL ALWAYS NEED A TARGET!" Mildred felt her heartbeat pound in her ears. Every muscle in her body was rigid with tension. She glared daggers at her Professor, her breathing ragged.

Silence settled over the classroom. Constance was at a loss. The look on Mildred's face conveyed a level of rage that Constance would have never expected from her; she looked ready to _kill._

Mildred took advantage of her Professors momentarily disarmed state and fled the classroom before Constance could formulate a response.

 **11:32am**

Beads of cold sweat ran down Mildred's face as she ran through the Castle hallways. The sound of her feet pounding against the floor reverberated loudly off of the stone walls but did precious little to drown out her intrusive thoughts. Why couldn't it be enough for Ms. Hardbroom to insult her once and walk away? Why did she have to keep _pushing_? Why did adults _always_ take it too far?

"Mildred! _Mildred_!" Maud's anxious voice stopped Mildred in her tracks. She turned around to face Enid and Maud, exasperated and breathing heavily with exertion. She had wanted to keep running, she just wanted to be left _alone._ But she knew her friends were the only allies she had left.

Enid and Maud jogged up to her. After taking a moment to catch her breath, Enid spoke first. "Mildred, what you just did in class…that was _brilliant_. And I mean, well, I liked that you did that…" Enid paused when Maud shot her an insistent look. She sighed, then continued, "But I _didn't_ like it, all the same. Because its just…its _not you_. You haven't been yourself all month."

Mildred began to respond, but Maud cut her off. "No Mildred," she pleaded, "Please. Just listen. You're not yourself. We know something is wrong. You just dismiss our concern, but we're you're _friends_. I know that you finally saw a physician, and we're happy about that. But there's something more, something you're not telling us. And I can tell that keeping it inside is killing you. We want to know what's going on."

The evident distress in Maud's eyes pained Mildred, but she didn't know what to say. Going into detail was out of the question. "Maud, there's nothing _wrong_ with me. I'm just so frustrated!" she exclaimed. _There_ , she thought to herself, _that wasn't a lie. I really_ _ **am**_ _frustrated._

"Mildred, it's more than that! If it was just frustration, you would vent to us about it and then resume your normal routine the next day!" Maud cried, "You wouldn't stop eating and sleeping! You wouldn't start having panic attacks out of nowhere! You wouldn't start screaming in a Professors face, no matter how much of a….of a…"

"Bitch?" Enid offered.

"Yes!" Maud threw her hands up, "No matter how _unpleasant_ they were being! It's just unthinkingly self-destructive, Mildred. To use such _language_ with Ms. Hardbroom like that."

"Well god forbid I use _language_ with her, Maud" Mildred snapped, "I'm sure that using _language_ with Ms. Hardbroom would doom the entire magical world."

Maud looked away. Mildred was at a loss. She could tell by the way that Maud's shoulders quivered that she had begun to cry. She felt terrible that her friends were upset, but for her, it simply was not a compelling enough reason to divulge everything that had been going on.

"Look," Mildred said softly, "I'm sorry. I don't know what else to say. I- There is something wrong. It's just…it's private. I don't want to hurt you guys, but _I don't want to talk about it._ That's all."

Enid wrapped a tentative arm around Maud's shoulders. Maud looked up at Mildred through tear-filled eyes. "I don't want _you_ to get hurt, Mildred. I want to know what's going on."

The choked-up voice of her best friend broke Mildred's heart.

"Millie," Enid interjected, "I'm worried too. And it's _obvious_ you don't want to talk about it. But would you please at least _consider_ confiding in us when you feel comfortable?"

The thought of them knowing _anything_ turned Mildred's stomach. She bit her lip and looked down at her bootlaces. "I don't know if I'll _ever_ feel comfortable," she said, ashamed.

Enid pursed her lips. Maud sobbed.

"I think I should leave now," Mildred said, desperate to escape the discomfort of the situation. She turned and began to walk away.

"Ms. Hardbrooms right about one thing" Maud sobbed miserably, "you _are_ selfish, Millie."

Mildred continued down the hallway until her friends' cries were no longer audible.

* * *

 **November 20** **th** **, 1999**

 **3:09pm**

Constance Hardbroom gripped the pen in her hand irately, and pressed the tip of it into the parchment before her.

 **Ms. Hubble,**

 **Your atrocious outburst during class yesterday has earned you four weeks of detention, on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday evenings. Your first detention will commence next week. Present yourself to the Potions classroom at 0830 on Monday night. Do not be late.**

 **Regards,**

 **Constance Hardbroom**

 **Deputy Headmistress of Cackles Academy**

 _I will make the girl write lines until her hand falls off!_ Constance gritted her teeth.

The deputy head was livid. It figured that when she had an occurrence to report to the headmistress that may compel her to expel, or at least _suspend_ the Hubble girl, she was on leave. In fact, Amelia Cackles would be absent from the school until the beginning of December. _Presumably dealing with family matters._

To make matters worse, Constance would be left alone to deal with Hecate Broomheads upcoming inspection of Cackles Academy. She scolded herself harshly as she felt fear grip her stomach at the mere memory of her old form mistress' face. _That was a long time ago, Constance. Pull yourself together._

 **07:34pm**

Constances' eyes drifted over to the gaggle of third year girls sitting at the far dining table in the mess hall. They talked to each other excitedly and giggled raucously; blissful in their youth and lack of knowledge about the harsh realities of the adult world. She noticed, with slight surprise, that Mildred Hubble was sitting at the very end of the table by herself. Ms. Moonshine and Ms. Nightshade were seated in the middle of the table, engaging in conversations with their peers, every so often casting furtive glances in Mildred's direction.

 _That is very odd._

Constance studied the solitary young witch; she remained uncharacteristically silent and did nothing but push her cold mashed potatoes around her plate disinterestedly. The form mistress almost pitied her dejected pupil, but upon conjuring the memory of Mildred's explosive reaction in her class the day prior she effectively crushed any sympathy she had begun to feel.

* * *

 **November 22** **nd** **, 1999**

 **08:30pm**

Mildred shivered as she walked into the potions classroom for her detention with Ms. Hardbroom _. I'm not scared, it's just unusually cold in here tonight_.

Constance looked up from her desk. "Ms. Hubble, you read my summons, and _followed the directions._ You are actually _here_ ," the older witch remarked acidly.

"Brilliant observation," Mildred shot back before she could check her temper.

"The obstinate brat lives!" Constance exclaimed theatrically, "Before your callous display of disrespect several days ago, I was beginning to think she had completely disappeared."

"On the contrary," Mildred said through gritted teeth, "I'm not invisible, I'm here. You said so yourself, about five seconds ago. Now, what was it you wanted me to do?"

"Well, Ms. Hubble. I attempted to devise a punishment that would _permanently_ correct your pathetic insolence," Constance drawled, "but it is quite obvious that no amount of correction would get through that thick skull of yours. So I have settled on giving you lines."

Mildred rolled her eyes. _Ooooh, a threat of 'permanent correction'. Like I've never dealt with_ _ **those**_ _before._

"You may think you are above any reprimand," Constance said derisively, "but that is the only reason you are here."

" _Really_?" Mildred queried sarcastically, "I thought I was here because you enjoyed my company." At that point, Mildred realized she was _trying_ to step over the line. She just wasn't sure why.

Constance huffed, and stormed over to her desk to grab a piece of parchment and a pen. She thrust them at Mildred. " _Three-hundred_ lines, Mildred. You are to write 'I will not throw away my education by losing myself in childish fantasies' "

 _ **Child. Fantasy.**_

Mildred closed her eyes.

" _This is_ _ **your**_ _fault!" a woman's scream overloaded her senses as she gasped for air, coughing up cold bathwater. "He is supposed to_ _ **fantasize**_ _about his wife, not his_ _ **child**_ _!"_

" _Mildred Hubble!_ " Constance hissed. The girl really thought it was prudent to _mock-daydream_ immediately after being given a punishment specifically designed to subvert that very behavior? Constance knew the girl was stubborn, but not _suicidal._

"Miss?" Mildred answered timidly, expending all of her energy to contain her sudden trembling. The memory had caught her so off-guard that she had no time at all to get angry at it.

"Do you attempt these theatrics with everyone, Ms. Hubble?" Constance asked, feeling more anxious than accusatory. The younger witches face had paled to an unnatural white shade so _rapidly._

"No…no.." Mildred attempted to sound neutral, "just give me my lines."

Constance raised an eyebrow. "Alright, then let's proceed with a normal detention. Sit at a desk in the back and write that statement I dictated to you earlier, _three-hundred_ times."

Mildred grabbed the pen and parchment from her hand, and hastily made her way to the back row of desks.

The older witch turned her back to Mildred. Perhaps Imogen was right. The girl's behavior as of late was quite unusual.

 _It's nothing more than puberty, exacerbated by Ms. Hubble's_ _ **profound**_ _emotional immaturity._

Constance felt an uncomfortable tugging at the corner of her stomach. The unwelcome sensation did not abate until the detention ended.

* * *

 _There's a lot of things that can kill a man,_

 _There's a lot of ways to die_

 _Listen, some already did that walked beside me_

 _There's a lot of things I don't understand; why so many people lie_

 _Its the hurt I hide_

 _that fuels the fire inside me_

* * *

Authors Note: I take no ownership of the creative property of Jill Murphy or Ray Lamontagne. Chapter Five is very HB-centric; by the way. It's the turning point of the story and starts to delve deeply into her psychology. I took so much time bringing the two together because I don't think I would be staying true to character if HB jumped immediately into the maternal/protective role (she will eventually, don't you worry).

Stargate Time Traveler - Thank you for your feedback on every chapter! It's not often a reviewer takes the time to do that.

German Witch - I really appreciate that! Mental illness is something alot of people don't like to think about...I think general psychology is something alot of people dont like to think about. I've been told I 'delve into the deep end of the pool' by alot of my friends, meaning that I'm always trying to figure out WHY people do the things that they do, and what their real, subconscious motivations are. Sometimes it makes me quite miserable, so I can understand why alot of people are hesitant to do it. It's nice to come across someone who looks at things deeper as well :) .


	5. Walking Backwards

_Chapter Five: Walking Backwards_

WARNING: DISTURBING IMAGE AT END OF CHAPTER.

A/N: After I finished this chapter, I remembered that England doesn't freaking have Thanksgiving and I felt like an idiot. Either way, the mention of the holiday in the story is inconsequential and is not an important part of the overall plot. But yeah, sorry. I didn't mean to be so culturally ignorant.

 **November 24th, 1999**

 **08:58pm**

Constance tried to keep herself from scrutinizing the lanky young teenager sitting at the back of her classroom. Mildred Hubble was giving her undivided attention to studiously writing lines; only stopping every so often to push a wisp of ebony hair out of her eyes.

Constance didn't understand why she felt _more_ frustrated at the girl when she actually exhibited behavior that was free of cheek or carelessness; but it was late in the evening and she hardly felt motivated to examine her paradoxical internal reactions.

 _Maybe it's because you think she's putting on._ Constance nearly knocked the stack of meticulously graded mid-term exams off of her desk in frustration. _She_ was certainly not too keen on examining herself; but her _mind,_ on the other hand…

 _Maybe it's because she knows how miserable you are._

"I am _not_ miserable," Constance muttered under her breath.

Mildred's head snapped up. "Did you say something, Miss?" she asked.

"No," Constance practically growled, and buried her nose back into the magazine (the latest edition of _The Potions Periodical)_ that she was pretending to read. She had to grudgingly admit to herself that perhaps she wasn't the most positive witch in the castle. Constance didn't think being optimistic while living in such a cruel world was a strength; she'd rather see things as they were (and they were mostly awful and dark, in her opinion) than try and lie to herself. Besides, most positive things in life were over-exaggerated and transient.

Constance could also concede that she was more alone, in both her personal and professional life, than many other women her age. She considered that to be a consequence of her personal choices; she often found people unbearable due to their inherent selfishness, un-trustworthiness, and greed. Additionally, most of the people in her past that had promised to fulfill the role of close friend or lover in her life had all left her behind. With the exception, of course, of Amelia Cackles.

Constance agreed that she was by-and-large alone, and had a _realistically_ negative view of the world….but miserable? _No_. Perhaps she was a little _on edge_ as of late…but that was because she was expected to single-handedly perfect the image of Cackles Academy before Hecate Broomheads visit, a task that was decidedly impossible.

 _That woman finds fault with even the most perfectly executed transmogrification spell, or pristinely brewed antitussive draught, or…._

Constance shook her head vigorously against the impending memories. Truthfully, she knew she had nothing to fear. She was a full grown witch, with powers that likely surpassed, or would at least match those of Ms. Broomhead. Furthermore, she highly doubted that the older witch would drag her down into the Academy dungeons for a brutal caning; that would be in poor taste for Ms. Broomheads image as Constance would raise hell if it did happen.

 _If she tries_ _ **anything**_ _, you'll send her to the infirmary._

The corners of Constances' mouth turned up slightly. Finally, her thoughts were in sync with her wishes.

* * *

 **November 25** **th** **, 1999**

 **7:43pm**

Rain lashed the windowpanes harshly, creating infinite teardrops that bled down the outside glass. Mildred stared at them, as if they would take her away into the night, so she wouldn't be expected to be something she wasn't, and didn't have to pretend anymore. It grew more frustrating for her every day, and she got angrier and felt more hopeless as time progressed.

It was Thanksgiving. Almost all of the students and most of the teachers (save Ms. Cackles, Ms. Bat, and Ms. Hardbroom) had left to spend the holiday with their families. Mildred looked down at her candied yams, and absently ran her fork through them.

"Millie."

Mildred's head snapped up abruptly at the soft voice of Enid Nightshade. She turned to face the other young witch, rendered speechless.

"Millie, it's me," Enid's dark eyebrows were drawn together in concern.

"What are you doing here?" Mildred asked nervously, "why aren't you at home with your mum?" She hurriedly pulled the sleeve of her robe over the deep violet scars marring her left wrist.

"When I saw that you weren't leaving for home as usual, I decided to stay behind," Enid said, her voice wavering. She eyed Mildred's concealed wrist apprehensively.

"You stayed here for _me?_ " Mildred breathed, touched.

"Of _course_ ," Enid replied with conviction, "And so did Maud. She's upstairs. I figured you wouldn't have appreciated being ambushed by the both of us."

Mildred set her fork down. "You really didn't have to do that. I was so dismissive of you the other-"

"Mildred," Enid interrupted her, "it wasn't fair for us to push you like that. It's just painful to watch someone you care for suffer…and not know why or how to help."

Mildred felt the warm sensation of blood rushing to her cheeks. She rubbed her sweaty palms together. "I know," she said sheepishly, "it's hard for me sometimes to think….to think that others care that _much_."

Enid cocked her head to the side, scrunching her nose up such that the freckles on it disappeared beneath the crinkled skin. "I would hope that it's a _given_ that we care that much, Millie."

Out of the corner of her eye, Mildred caught a glimpse of a blonde pigtail bobbing in the entrance of the dining hall.

"Maud?" Mildred called out.

Enid whipped around to see Maud approach, the light from the candles on the dining table bouncing off the lenses of her glasses. Maud walked with firm resolve over to Mildred, and when she stood before her she wrapped her friend in a bone-crushing hug. "I'm sorry, Mildred," she whispered fiercely into her comrades ear.

Overwhelmed, Mildred returned the embrace with as much energy as she could manage. She knew she _should_ feel like weeping with gratitude, but instead she felt hollow.

Maud sat to her left, and Enid sat to her right.

"Mildred, why didn't you go home for Thanksgiving?" Enid asked purposefully.

"Well…" Mildred murmured, not looking at either of them, "I was removed from….I was taken out of my home by the Magical Protection Board."

Maud gasped and covered her hand with her mouth. Enid drew in her breath sharply.

Before they could ask, Mildred continued, "No one hurt me or anything, it's just that my dad's drinking got out of control and he lost his job. Mum hasn't worked in ages, so she had a hard time finding a job. She tried to keep food on the table, but Dad just kept drinking all of the money away. A neighbor intervened before the term started because she saw how thin I was getting."

Maud took Mildred's hand in hers and squeezed it, hanging on her every word.

Enid eyed her skeptically. "If a non-magical neighbor intervened, then why did the case go to the Magical Protection Board?"

"My mum thought it would be best if I was placed with a magical family. She wanted me to continue my education at Cackles, and thought that if I went into the National Care System I wouldn't be sent back here," Mildred lied.

 _Right. Mum has hated me for being a witch; given that she always wanted powers like mine. She would have loved to see my magical education ripped away from me._

Mildred closed her eyes, willing her inner voice to silence itself.

"I had no idea, Mildred," Maud exclaimed tearfully, "I'm so sorry. Is that why you've been so upset lately?"

Mildred nodded. "It's hard to think that I won't be going home. I feel so lost, I feel like I don't belong anywhere."

 _Well, at least that's true._

* * *

 **December 2nd, 1999**

 **08:11pm**

It had been an exhausting day for Constance, to say the least. Hecate Broomhead had left no stone unturned throughout the duration of her inspection; she had reduced Ms. Tapioca to tears over the, "appallingly filthy state of the kitchens", personally brought Constance a bucketful of cobwebs that she had picked from various dark corners of the castle hallways, and recommended several third year students for "harsher forms of discipline" after going through their academic records.

Constance had taken a great amount of pleasure in calmly reminding her that those "harsher" disciplinary tactics had been outlawed by the Wizarding Magistrate over a decade ago. It had felt like a momentary victory until her old form mistress had fixed her with an irate glare, and Constance had stumbled back into the stone wall behind her; barely able to keep herself from cowering in fear.

Earlier in the evening, Constance had considered going to dinner, but the rage boiling in her stomach had effectively wiped out her appetite. She was angry at her withered old mentor, but even more angry with herself. _How could I let her frighten me so? I am an_ _ **adult**_ _. I know that she poses no threat to me now. And yet I reacted as childishly as Davina does when she scurries to her cupboard!_

She pinched the bridge of her nose. Everything about the past twenty-four hours had been incredibly stressful for Constance. Everything, with the surprising exception of Mildred Hubble. When the girl had been told to stay in her rooms with her bats until the Inspectorate had left, she had nodded submissively and subsequently complied. Although isolating the girl in her room had saved Constance a headache (Cackles had _passed_ the inspection after all), she still found herself inexplicably disgruntled with Mildred's meek behavior.

 _Maybe it's because when she's screwing up, you can justify your resentment towards her._

"Shut _up_ ," Constance hissed, slamming two clenched fists down onto her desk.

 _Maybe it's because when she behaves, you've lost your favorite_ _ **target.**_

" _SHUT UP!_ "

Constance's howl reverberated off the walls of her empty classroom.

* * *

 **December 3** **rd** **, 1999**

 **05:16pm**

"Come in, dear!" Amelia Cackles beckoned her deputy into her office. Constance could hardly contain her excitement, she had waited so long to deliver the speech that made her case against Mildred Hubble that she had to keep her mouth firmly shut lest it spill out of her tactlessly.

"Amelia," Constance hugged the headmistress stiffly, "how was your trip?"

"Oh, you know," Amelia responded, turning to the cupboard behind her desk to retrieve a piece of cheesecake and a fork, "a lot of this, a lot of that." She proceeded to shovel a rather large forkful into her mouth.

 _She only eats that fast when someone forgets her birthday…_

"Did something happen, Amelia?" Constance asked, settling into the plush fuschia chair opposite the other woman.

"Mmmph…..mmmph.." Amelia bobbed her head emphatically.

"I can wait until you swallow that," Constance remarked sharply.

When Amelia had finished chewing, she set down her plate.

"Constance, it's my Aunt Gertrude. She has been diagnosed with a terminal illness. She likely won't take a turn for the worst for another year or so…it's just…she practically _raised_ me," Amelia looked down to hide her tears, but the fog that formed on the lenses of her glasses gave them away.

"I'm very sorry, Amelia," Constance said, feeling instantly guilty. She had not at all considered that Amelia's recent absence was in lieu of something serious.

The headmistress removed her glasses, and dabbed the corners of her eyes with a handkerchief. "It's quite alright, Constance," she sniffled, "death is one of the only certainties in life. I can at least be grateful that her passing is not sudden, and I still have time with her."

 _So maybe being positive isn't always a bad thing._

Constance almost told her inner voice exactly where it could stick its positivity, but at the risk of looking mental in front of Amelia, she decided against it.

Instead, she smiled tightly and said, "I am glad you are finding a way to cope."

Amelia shrugged her shoulders and pushed her glasses back up her nose. She peered at Constance. "How did the inspection go?"

Constance cursed her insides for the knots they tied themselves in. "We passed. Hecate…she was very _thorough_."

"I'm very sorry I could not be there, Constance" Amelia reached across her desk and patted her deputy's hand.

Constance looked away. "Yes, well. It was handled."

"Constance, I would have been there if matters with my family had not been so grave. I know how hard it is for you to be around-

"It's _alright_ , Amelia" Constance groaned, "it is not a matter I wish to discuss."

"Very well," Amelia said, knowing when to relent, "then what _would_ you like to discuss with me?"

Constance fixed the headmistress with a determined look. "Mildred Hubble."

After Constance relayed Mildred's outburst to the headmistress in painstaking detail, Amelia simply sat back and sighed sadly.

"I've given her a month of detention," Constance said purposefully, "but I do not believe that will be enough. The girl, quite simply, is out of control. She needs _administrative_ discipline, Amelia."

"Constance…" Amelia began hesitantly, "I do not think it is wise, at the moment, to remove the child from Cackles. There are….there is a great deal of….please, just be patient with the child. I will call her into my office tomorrow and discuss the incident."

" _Patient?_ " Constance screeched, thoroughly taken aback. "Patient with a child that screamed obscenities into my face, in front of the rest of my students? With a child that almost blows up the school every _week_?"

Amelia pursed her lips, clearly uncomfortable. "Yes, Constance. That is what I am asking of you."

 **05:54pm**

Constance was _fuming_. How dare Amelia suggest that she should be patient with the girl? Mildred Hubble was clearly a walking behavioral problem that didn't belong at Cackles. It was not in her job description to be empathetic towards nuisance-ridden children. She stormed through the castle ferociously, scaring quite a few hallway-dawdling students in her wake. _How could she? How_ _ **could**_ _she?_

Constance felt overwhelmingly stung by the entire interaction. The headmistress was supposed to be on her _side_. Amelia Cackles had left her without any form of support to deal with her old tormentor, and she was offering no support to her in dealing with an unruly and potentially dangerous student. Constance felt an unwelcome pressure build behind her eyes, and paused in the castle hallway to regain her composure.

 _She is the only one that embraced me, welcomed me, and didn't treat me like I was some prized academic possession for her to show off….and now she's_ _ **leaving**_ _me!_ Constance pressed her forehead into the cool stone of the wall, and forced herself to deep breathe until the stinging sensation in the corners of her eyes went away.

* * *

 **December 4** **th** **, 1999**

 **08:12am**

It was a Saturday. Mildred had been set on spending the whole day in her dormitory, watching the snowflakes swirl against the windowpanes as a comforting fire blazed inside. As her abysmal luck would have it, however, she had received an urgent summons from Amelia Cackles telling her that Dr. Grisham needed to speak with her immediately. So she found herself sitting opposite the doctor in a deserted classroom, waiting for him to speak.

"Mildred, I am here to update you on the status of the case against your parents," he said, making direct eye contact.

She tensely splayed her fingers on the desk before her. "Well?"

"They have been arrested, and are being held at the Magistrate Detention Center in Birmingham. The date of their trial has been set for January 18th."

Mildred cringed inwardly. Despite the hell she had been raised in, the thought of her parents sitting in a jail cell made her feel incredibly uneasy. She assumed that the correctional facility housed its male and female inhabitants separately, and that meant that each of them would have been left by themselves. _Mum hates being alone…_

"Mildred?" Dr. Grisham's low baritone interrupted her ruminating.

"Yes, Doctor?" Mildred rasped, unable to look at him.

"Do you need a moment? This subject is apparently very trying for you; so I can give you some space to re-orient if you'd like."

Mildred was shocked at his apparently boundless perceptiveness. _No one has ever asked if I needed to be alone; they just bombard me with nauseating amounts of concern._

Mildred sat ramrod straight, and did her best to neutralize her expression. "No, Thank you. Please continue."

Dr. Grisham peered at her skeptically. "Right. They are to be tried before the Wizarding Magistrate on the 18th of January, at approximately nine-thirty in the morning. I assume that you have not changed your stance regarding delivering a testimony?"

"Stance _unchanged_ ," Mildred answered acerbically, annoyed.

"Stance _noted._ " The corners of the physicians lips twitched.

Mildred wasn't in the mood for jokes. Well, she was _never_ in the mood for jokes, but that was besides the point. "Is there anything else, Doctor?"

"Yes, Mildred," he said, "I am legally obligated to inform you that you are welcome to attend the hearing. You may take as much time as you need to decide whether or not that is something that you wish to do. I implore you, even if you do not plan to deliver a testimony, to attend. It can be a healing experience for a victim to see their abusers punished."

"I am NOT a victim!" Mildred bellowed, bolting from her seat to tower over the sitting form of the man in front of her.

Dr. Grisham's face remained maddeningly neutral. "I am just delivering the message, Mildred. Furthermore, I urge you to see a mind healer when you feel you are ready."

Mildred was shaking like a volcano about to erupt. "I. DON'T. NEED. A. BLOODY. MIND. HEALER." She screamed, punctuating each word by slamming the desk next to her with an open palm.

"Mildred, I am not in the field of medicine to placate my patients with what they would like to hear," the physician said firmly, but not condescendingly, "I am in the business to _recommend,_ not to _force,_ mind you,the best treatments available for their ailments. Whether or not they like the proposed treatments is of little importance to me."

Mildred sat down, drained from her outburst. "Well I _don't_ like it," she muttered petulantly, "but thank you for being such a _soldier_ in the field of medicine."

Then, the blasted man had the gall to _smile_. "A medicine man I am, Mildred," Dr. Grisham chuckled, his eyes sparking playfully, "but a soldier I am not. I actually majored in medicine at Weirdbrother College to avoid being drafted into the Wizarding army during the war."

Mildred huffed. The man was supposed to be fueling her anger, not engaging her in friendly small talk! "I have homework I have to finish, Doctor," Mildred lied, standing from her desk, "if that is all?"

Dr. Grisham sighed and stood as well. "Yes, Mildred. I will be returning to Cackles on the 21st of December to check in with you. I will have spoken with the Magical Protection Board by then, and they will likely begin the process of finding an appropriate placement for you once the Winter term ends."

"Fine, whatever," Mildred said tersely, and left the classroom to isolate herself in her dormitory.

 **4:27pm**

Mildred glowered at Amelia Cackles from her seated position across the headmistress' desk. It figured that her sedentary Saturday would be interrupted not once, but _twice_ by an adult who was complicit in turning her life upside down.

"Mildred, when I returned from leave Ms. Hardbroom told me about the incident that occurred in her classroom a little over a week ago," Ms. Cackles said, all in one breath.

 _Oh._ Mildred had completely forgotten that Ms. Hardbroom would likely run to the headmistress about the incident instead of just assigning her detentions.

 _She probably did the moonwalk all the way to Ms. Cackles office hoping to get me expelled._

"Yes, Miss. I'm sorry about that, Miss," Mildred said in her best butter-wouldn't-melt-in-my-mouth voice.

"Mildred, this is _very_ serious," the older woman insisted gently, "It absolutely _cannot_ happen again. She would never admit this, but Constance felt _degraded_ after you yelled at her. The conduct you exhibited was very hurtful."

 _ **She**_ _has feelings? Call the bloody press._

"I am very, very sorry" Mildred said, trying her best to appear ashamed.

"It's not me you have to apologize to, Mildred," Amelia chided, "It's Ms. Hardbroom."

"Of course, Ms. Cackles," Mildred crooned, "I'd feel absolutely horrible if I didn't."

The headmistress nodded, appearing satisfied. Mildred fixed her gaze to the floor, and said nothing. _I've never felt less sorry about anything in my entire life._

"Mildred," Amelia said gently, concern written all over her face, "I do believe that these outbursts may have a root. And if you get to that root, you may be able to resolve whatever seems to be troubling you."

"Dr. Grisham already tried to convince me to talk to a Mind Healer," Mildred retorted, "I'm not going to do it."

Amelia sighed. "Mildred, I do not know what you have encountered over the course of your life. But I'm guessing whatever circumstances gave the Magical Protection Board license to take you out of your home must have been traumatic," she paused. Mildred said nothing.

"Mildred," Amelia pressed, "whether you realize it now or not, I am telling you, this is something that you _need_ to talk about."

"Actually, I don't think it is" Mildred hissed. She looked up and shot a piercing glare at the headmistress to emphasize her point. She hated Ms. Cackles gentleness. Trying to take care of her as if she was a child, trying to coax her into divulgement with kind words and smiles and such.

 _It's not going to work on me **this** time._

"Mildred, we will all be here for you when you are ready," Amelia said sadly, and stood from her chair.

"I know, and I appreciate it," Mildred said through gritted teeth, "but I'm fine. Nothing _horrible_ has happened to me."

Amelia walked up to Mildred, and placed a warm hand on her shoulder. Mildred jerked back violently, the headmistress' concern evoking a deep panic within her

"I'm sorry, Mildred" Amelia said quietly, "I should have asked your permission before I touched you."

"It's fine, Miss" Mildred said quietly, "I have to go."

Mildred stormed out of the headmistress' office. She resented Ms. Cackles for her incessant questions and absolutely _loathed_ her for caring.

* * *

 **December 6** **th** **, 1999**

 **08:30pm**

Mildred trudged into the potions classroom, her head bowed. _If I'm going to say I'm sorry, I should probably make it seem legitimate._

"Ms. Hubble," Ms. Hardbroom said cagily, and stood up from her desk, "Today, you are to take a full inventory of my potions laboratory. Down to the last dandelion root, I want everything counted accurately."

Mildred groaned internally.

"Uhm, before we begin….I…I'd like to say something."

Ms. Hardbroom rubbed her burgundy lips together in consternation. "Is that so?"

Mildred straightened her shoulders. "Yes," she said with certitude.

"Well," Ms. Hardbroom replied, tapping her foot impatiently, "out with it then."

"I'm really…" Mildred inhaled deeply, "I'm really sorry about the way I spoke to you in class several weeks ago. It was completely uncalled for, and- somewhat cruel."

Then Ms. Hardbroom laughed. A cold, bitter, near-hysterical laugh, which echoed eerily throughout the potions lab.

 _The day has come. I've finally driven her completely mad. She'll likely skin me alive and use taxidermy to stuff and mount my flesh for display._

"Oh, Ms. Hubble," the form mistress hissed with cold enmity, "you expect me to believe you? I know that you only want me to ease up on the detentions. That is certainly _not_ going to happen."

* * *

 **December 10** **th** **, 1999**

 **10:46am**

Mildred stared at Ms. Hardbroom, trying her best to focus on the instruction she was giving the class. Her eyes fluttered occasionally, Ms. Hardbroom's drone fading as her fatigue took over, and she began to drift off…

" _MS. HUBBLE!_ " the older woman's angry hand slammed down on Mildred's desk.

Mildred didn't even jump. Her eyes fluttered open. " _What?_ " she spat at her Professor.

"Do try to pay attention, Ms. Hubble," Ms. Hardbroom sneered, "you don't want your four weeks of detention to be extended to _four months_."

Mildred rolled her eyes. Her Professor had tried to threaten her with extending her punishment; but four months of detention would run into early April, almost two months after the end of the winter term. Besides, no punishment was greater than having the private details of her life exposed against her will by Ms. Cackle and Ms. Drill. Mildred crossed her arms defiantly across her chest and scowled. She sat exactly like that for the remainder of the class, just to spite Ms. Hardbroom, and didn't even try to make the potion.

 **9:30pm**

Constance had decided to give Mildred a two-hour detention laden with disgusting tasks in light of her obstinate behavior earlier that day. She'd been a bit overenthusiastic while giving the girl instructions on how to skin lizard tails with a paring knife; she supposed that the fact that she was almost jubilant in the girls presence was due to Mildred showing some signs of life in her classroom; albeit angry and deviant ones.

 _I'm only excited that I get to use my authority to perform a service; to curb behavior in a young girl that will tarnish her reputation later in life_ she thought to herself _, not because I'm free from being haunted by that dreadful lifeless expression on her face._

She looked over at her pupil, who was scrubbing the cutting board free of lizard scales.

"Done already, Ms. Hubble?" Constance asked sharply.

"Yes, but I assume that isn't all," Mildred retorted.

"Your assumption is correct," Constance said haughtily, "for the remainder of your detention, you are to scrub the used cauldrons from all of my classes today, _without_ using magic. I instructed all of my pupils today to not clean them so I would have something for you to do."

"Of course, Ms. _Hardbroom_ ," Mildred said, and casted a weary glance at the stack of thirty or so cauldrons stacked in the corner of the room.

"You will scrub each and every one of those cauldrons, and by the end of tonight, they will be _sparkling_ clean," Constance said resolutely, "and if I see dried potions residue remaining in _any_ of the cauldrons, you will start over. The cleaning solutions and cloth are on the windowsill. Make sure to keep the pane open, as the smell from the solutions can get rather _caustic_."

"I'll get to it, Miss," Mildred said firmly, but Constance could tell by the girls posture that she felt subdued. That made Constance feel better about herself, and more important than she had in ages.

The girl began her task, and the stench of chlorine wafted throughout the room, stinging Constances' eyes. She was about to tell the girl to stop using so much solution, when she heard a dreadful choking sound from across the room.

Constance stood up abruptly, staring in horror at the sight before her. Mildred was sprawled prone on the floor, gasping for breath. Her eyelids and cheeks were rapidly swelling, hives had broken out on her hands, and her white lips had slowly begun to turn blue.

 _Anaphylaxis. She's allergic to the product._

Constance threw open the bottom drawer of her desk, fervently searching through its contents until she found the long, cylindrical object she was looking for. She dashed over to her rapidly deteriorating student, adrenaline coursing through her veins.

Constance rolled Mildred over onto her stomach. She hurriedly lifted her robes and dress skirt, then proceeded to plunge the epinephrine pen into her pupils left thigh.

Mildred's wheezes became steadily less severe over the next fifteen seconds, and Constance was relieved to see her chest ease back into a steady rise and fall.

As she made to withdraw the pen, she caught sight of the thick, red scars on the back of Mildred's thighs. Constance's entire body tensed and she drew in her breath sharply when she processed exactly what she saw; the scars were not only scars, but components of a slur branded onto Mildred's pale white skin. She mouthed the two words silently as she took in the meaning of the letters as a collective:

On the left thigh: F-U-C-K

-I-N-G

On the right: S-L-A-G.

* * *

 _it's funny how the kids rise, and pull on my disguise._

 _they are warped outside and in._

 _what's my muse?_

 _it's their sin._

 _walking backwards face-first into my past,_

 _as I refuse to be lied against._

Authors Note: I take no ownership of the creative property of Jill Murphy or Justin Vernon. I wasn't planning on changing the stories' rating until Chapter 9, but if any of you recommend that I should change it now I will do so.


	6. Play Dead

_Chapter Six: Play Dead_

 **December 10** **th** **, 1999**

 **09:46 PM**

Mildred slumped onto her stomach, and calmed as she felt her breathing return to normal. The sharp pinch she had felt in her left thigh was nothing compared to the suffering she had felt when she was struggling for oxygen.

"Mildred, can you hear me?" she heard the strained voice of the potions mistress sound from somewhere above her.

"Y-yes," Mildred croaked, her throat aching, "what happened?"

"You had a severe allergic reaction to the cleaning solution," the older woman said remorsefully, "I didn't know you were an asthmatic, Mildred. I would have never asked you to complete that task had I known."

"An asth-what?" Mildred asked, confused.

"You don't….my god, of _course_ you don't."

Mildred rolled her eyes, perceiving her professor's clipped response as an insult. She inhaled several times. The ability to breathe had never felt so _glorious._

Basking in the rare feeling of relief, she lay prone on the classroom floor for a good ten seconds, then moved her hands to her sides to push herself up. As she moved, she felt the cold air against her bared skin and realized, with horror, that she was exposed. The scars. The fucking _scars._

She immediately pushed her dress skirt and robes down her body to cover herself, and rolled away from her teacher, who was kneeling on the floor next to her. She sat up, _not too quickly or she'll see the panic_ , and immediately scooted backwards to put as much distance as possible between her and Ms. Hardbroom. Characteristically, she scooted so far back that she collided with one of the desks, sending a sharp searing pain across her right shoulder blade.

"Mildred," Ms. Hardbroom said in a cautious, but firm tone, "I have seen the marks on the backs of your thighs."

Mildred nodded, looking anywhere but her teacher.

"Would you care to tell me how you got them?" Constance pushed the question out, trying to sound as nonthreatening as possible.

" _No_ ," Mildred said with conviction, but immediately checked herself by adding a meek, "Miss" when she realized she was alone in a room with an adult twice her size who she was sure despised her.

Constance noted, with an internal sigh, that the girl was afraid. Mildred had her legs pulled up to her chest with her arms wrapped firmly around her knees as though she was trying to make herself as small as possible.

Attempting to sound neutral, Constance said, "Mildred, you do not need to answer. I am not in a position to force you to tell me how those injuries came about, nor would I even if I had the authority to do so. But I do have a legal duty to report what I saw, as you are a minor under the care and protection of Cackles Academy."

Mildred rested her chin on her kneecaps, and fixed her gaze firmly to the floor. "Ssalready been reported," she mumbled, firmly resolving to not look up and gauge her teachers reaction.

" _Pardon_?" Constance replied, unable to not sound taken aback.

 _Oh_ , _damn it all_. Mildred cleared her throat, "Three weeks ago. _Miss Drill_ was concerned that I'd never had a physical examination by any sort of medical person, and Ms. Cackles decided that was reason enough to report a problem. I saw a Wizarding Doctor and he did a full 'work-up'" Mildred was barely able to keep the irritation out of her voice as she used her fingers to form air quotes, "and found enough reason to legally take me out of my home. He knows about the scars, too. But he said that my teachers do not need to know _why_ I'm being taken out, just _that_ I'm being taken out."

 _So as far as Amelia and Imogen know, this is purely a case of child neglect._ Constance was slightly hurt that her colleagues had not felt the need to relay the fact that the girl was now a legal ward, she _was_ the deputy headmistress after all.

"If that is indeed the case," Constance replied, "I will confirm with Ms. Cackles that you are no longer in the legal custody of your parents, and confirm with the Medical Wizard that saw you that he saw the same marks as I. And perhaps get him to write a prescription for an inhaler."

"Do what you have to do," Mildred said dejectedly, and dug her fingernails into her palms. It figured that _Miss Hardbroom_ would be the one to see _those_ scars.

Constance rose from the floor, and noted how the girl across from her flinched at the sudden movement.

"Mildred," Constance spoke, in what she hoped was a soft tone, "despite how turbulent our interactions have been since you came to this academy, I will not, and will never, subject you to any physical harm."

Mildred's eyes flashed to meet Constance's, and the potions teacher had to take a step back at the sheer hatred that filled them. "I _know_. It is against _all sorts_ of laws," Mildred almost hissed.

Constance immediately felt agitation rise within her. The young girl really thought that _laws_ were the only things keeping her from raising her hand to a student? "You're _impossible_ , girl," Constance spat, so offended in that moment that she could not see how her response mimicked that of every abusive adult her pupil had ever encountered.

The disgusted look on Constance's face filled Mildred with terror.

 _She wont hit you She wonthityou She wont burnorcutorhityou Shewillloseherjob Calmdown Stopitstopitstopit_

The young witch desperately tried to calm the sudden increase in her heart rate. She looked away from her teacher as she felt a lump form in her throat, and hated herself for it.

 _Dontgivein don't cry like a little baby, stop it, stop it, STOP IT!_ She sunk her teeth into the tip of her tongue until she could taste hot metallic liquid, the sting brought her back into reality so acutely that all emotions diminished.

Constance tore her eyes away from Mildred's face, drawing a complete blank. _I did not plan for this._ At first the girl had seemed terrified, then defiant, then back to terrified, then sad, and then angry, and then completely emotionless, all in a matter of two minutes. This was not the Mildred Hubble she was used to seeing. This did not fit her preconceived notions about the child and her behavior. She was so uncomfortable with the potential volatility of the situation that she needed to remove herself from it as soon as possible.

"Mildred, I will accompany you to Amelia Cackles office, _right now_ ," she instantly cursed herself for using a tone that would likely incite fear, and modified her voice slightly as she continued, "and I will confirm what I have discovered with her and the Wizarding physician that you claim has examined you. If what you have relayed to me happens to be the truth, then I will leave you be, as I know other authorities at this school are aware of your situation."

Mildred simply nodded, and stood in one abrupt movement. Constance nodded, her mouth tightly pinched, and swept out of the classroom, the girl close on her heels.

 **10:02pm**

Amelia Cackles shuffled out of her bedroom, clad in a robe sporting various stars and crescent-shaped moons. "Constance!" she exclaimed groggily, her eyes still heavy with sleep, "what has brought you to me at such an hour?" With a sigh, she regarded the accompanying form of Mildred Hubble, who she could barely make out behind the curtain of long dark hair that covered the girls face.

"I need to speak with you privately, Amelia," Constance said hastily, her discomfort growing as she noted the worry in the headmistress' eyes, "and I need to ensure, for the duration of our conversation, that Mildred remains in the confines of your quarters." Bloody hell, she could almost feel the girls muscles tense at the word 'confines'. _Sometimes I damn my extrasensory aptitude_ , Constance thought darkly as Amelia silently cast a tight locking charm on her quarter doors.

"Mildred, dear" Amelia said gently, "there's nothing to fear. Please wait in here for a moment while I speak to Ms. Hardbroom."

Mildred nodded her head, "Yes Miss," and sat down at the edge of the purple couch in the entrance room.

Constance followed Amelia into her office. Amelia closed the door, and cast a powerful silencing spell around the room. Once Constance had settled herself in the plush armchair opposite Amelia's desk, she spoke without hesitation, "Why was I not informed that Ms. Hubble was taken out of her home?"

Amelia blinked, and responded much more quickly than Constance was expecting, "Because, Constance, I am not legally obligated to relay such information to you. In addition, the girl is determined to keep this as private as possible, and that must be respected."

Constance took a deep breath, puzzled by her own frustration, as well as the firmness of her usually amenable boss. She attempted to reply as professionally as possible, "And I suppose that the reasons behind her removal are to remain private as well?"

Amelia's face took on a saddened expression. "Not even I know the reasons, Constance," she said with a heavy sigh, "but I must ask how you came about this information in the first place?"

"She told me. I saw…" Constance paused, remembering that she may be legally required to censor herself, " _evidence_ of things that would constitute a _highly_ justified case for removal from her guardians, and I asked her about how this _evidence_ came about. She told me that due to concerns raised by Ms. Drill and yourself, a wizarding physician had been called upon to examine her and had found the same _evidence_ as I, and removed her from her home. I wanted to confirm this with you and the physician, such that I am fulfilling my duty to protect her."

"Evidence…" Amelia trailed off, and began to rub her temples, "I see. I was hoping…I was hoping that the kind of _evidence_ you are likely referring to was not involved, but alas, I hoped for nothing," she looked up, regarding the other woman's firmly pursed lips with a furrowed brow, "Constance, I know you are angered by this discovery, we all are."

" _Naturally_ ," Constance retorted, "Who is not enraged when they discover that a child under their care has been serially mistreated, and that mistreatment was _overlooked_? And further, the damage incurred by the mistreatment may never be fully realized by the adults caring for said child, just because the child says so. It makes no sense."

"Constance," Amelia looked down, folding her hands in her lap, "you are not alone in your feelings of guilt for having not seen the signs in Ms. Hubble earlier. I _also_ wish to know the details of what she has encountered, but she must be the one to ultimately disclose them. The decision to trust those that currently care for her must be hers, and hers alone."

"She is _thirteen_ years old!" Constance exclaimed, throwing her hands up, "she is barely more than a child. How do her requests carry any weight in such a matter?"

" _Constance_ ," Amelia replied, her voice thick with tears, "you must understand that abuse of a child is characterized by all sorts of boundary violations. We both want to help, but we will accomplish nothing if we overstep ourselves, she will see us as perpetrators if we try to force anything out of her. That is the unfortunate reality."

Constance assumed a defeated posture; she felt drained, and worst of all, powerless. She could do nothing in this situation, she _had_ done nothing when Imogen had first warned her of it, and the lack of control she felt was maddening. With her arms defiantly crossed, she muttered, "when can I speak to the physician?"

"I can summon him now," Amelia replied, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her robes, "first, let me send Mildred off to bed. She does not need to be kept awake any longer."

Ms. Hardbroom stood up so quickly she surprised herself, "No. I will accompany the girl to her quarters, and will come back to speak with the physician."

Amelia eyed her nervously, "Constance, she is very fragile, and I know your history-"

Constance, insulted, interrupted her, "Amelia, the mere _suggestion_ that I would do _anything_ to _endanger_ a child-"

"Constance. I know she is _physically_ safe with you," Amelia exclaimed, " _All_ I am asking is that you take on a warmer than usual demeanor with her, especially tonight. I am sure you are the last person she wanted to find about this." Amelia felt anxious after being so blunt, but she could not simultaneously protect Mildred _and_ craft her statements around Constance's high sensitivity.

Constance imperceptibly slumped her shoulders, and she looked down, as though ashamed. "I know, Amelia. I apologize. I will treat her with the care that she needs."

"I know you will," Amelia replied, hoping Constance could keep her word, "Please come back in roughly an hour. The physician should be here by then."

 **10:26pm**

Ms. Cackles' office door opened, and Ms. Hardbroom emerged, an openly worn expression on her usually impassive face. After a brief pause, she acknowledged her pupil, "Ms. Hubble."

Mildred forced herself to meet her teachers eyes, "Yes, Miss?" she inwardly cringed at how small her voice sounded.

"I am going to escort you to bed. You need your rest," Constance asserted, feeling incredibly out of her depth. The girls eyes were full of questions.

Mildred nodded curtly, and rose from her rigid sitting position.

"Go on then, Mildred," Constance said awkwardly, gesturing at the office exit.

"If its alright, Miss" Mildred said in a meek voice and looked away, "I'd rather walk beside you or behind you."

A moment of silence followed, and Mildred instantly winced and bit her lip hard.

 _You made a fucking request?_ _**stop**_ _making it so easy for her to get frustrated!_

Constance tilted her head, thoroughly confounded, but nodded her assent and replied, "That is quite alright…Off we go,"

Mildred started at Ms. Hardbroom's uncharacteristic agreeableness, and followed her teacher out of the headmistresses quarters and into the castle halls.

 **10:35pm**

"Well, Good Night then, Miss," Mildred said awkwardly. She was standing outside of her dormitory door with her form mistress; aching to go inside so she wouldn't have to keep interacting with _people_ , she'd had her fill of them for the day.

"Ms. Hub- er- Mildred," Constance said self-consciously, "I would like to see to it that you get in bed."

"Uhhhhh.." Mildred gaped at her, "Pardon, but why?"

Constance swiftly suffocated the urge to lay into the girl with an authoritative rant and said, "Because of what I saw, Mildred. I fear for your safety, and to assuage that fear in what little way I can, I want to make sure you get to bed…protected."

Mildred felt something deep inside of her chest twinge.

"Okay, Miss. I guess…but I have to get into my nightclothes first."

"Yes, yes" the older witch remarked briskly, "please call me in when you are decent."

Mildred nodded slowly, and gave her teacher one last scrupulous look (to determine whether or not she had been replaced by an alien body snatcher) before disappearing into her room to change.

Constance waited outside the dormitory, her mind belaboring her actions. _You don't know what the_ _ **bloody**_ _hell you're doing! Why didn't you just make her write lines again? You could have avoided this entire mess!_ She made to bang the back of her head against the wall, but her bun struck the stone before her skull did. Needing something inanimate to focus her frustration on, she furiously pulled bobby pins out of her tightly wound locks until her hair cascaded down her shoulders like an onyx river.

"Miss?" she heard her student call from the other side of the door, "you can come in now."

Constance entered the room to find her student already in her bed, curled up under her fluffy white comforter. With every step she took towards Mildred, she could see the girl inch back minutely from her approach. _Of course the girl is afraid; she's been_ _ **branded**_ _for Gods sake._

Once she came to the realization that towering over a traumatized child wasn't the grandest of ideas; Constance knelt down on the floor, meeting Mildred at eye-level. She watched her students micro-expressions; the girl was clearly fighting with herself about whether to look away or not.

"Mildred…" Constance said at a volume barely above a whisper, "will you be alright if I leave you here?"

Mildred's face hardened. "Of course, Miss. Thank you for ensuring my safety."

"You're welcome, Mildred." Constance stood. She knew damn well that the girl would _not_ be alright, she _hadn't_ been alright for _who knows_ _ **how**_ _long…_ But Constance didn't know what to say. There was nothing _to_ say, really. The scars had spoken for themselves; Mildred was a victim and Constance had been too stubborn to see it.

"Good Night," the Potions Mistress said from the doorway, sparing one last repentant glance at her pupil before shutting the door softly behind her.

 **10:53pm**

"Constance Hardbroom, I presume?" Dr Grisham called out to the satin clad figure that stood looking solemnly out of the large window in Amelia Cackles' private rooms.

The deputy head turned to face him, and for the first time in _years_ he had to steady himself. The woman before him was absolutely breathtaking; her waist-length black curls, her porcelain white skin, her full, maroon-colored lips, her intense, dark brown eyes flashing from underneath her thick eyelashes…

"Yes, Dr. Grisham," she answered slyly, raising one perfectly manicured eyebrow, "it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance." She outstretched her hand.

He shook it firmly, perhaps a little _too_ firmly, but the Potions Mistress didn't seem to mind.

"Yours- ah-" he stumbled, "Yours as well, Ms. Hardbroom." Shaking off his disorientation, he forced himself to focus on the matter at hand. "I understand that you wanted to speak with me regarding Mildred Hubble?"

Her confident expression immediately darkened. "Yes. I saw some…some marks on her that were very concerning. I asked her about them and she told me that _you_ were already aware of them. I wanted to verify her claim."

"I see," Dr. Grisham said rigidly, "what marks are you referring to, Ms. Hardbroom?"

Constance placed her hands on her hips. "They were scars, raised scars. On the backs of her thighs, they spelled out-"

"I _know_ what they spelled out," Dr. Grisham squeezed his eyes shut painfully as his mind conjured up the image of that particular entry on the diagnostic parchment:

 _July 26th, 1999 – Pattern burn/laceration; intentional branding of letters into skin: "F-U-C-K-I-N-G" (anterior aspect of left thigh) "S-L-A-G" (anterior aspect of right thigh); inflicted by heated blade of a knife._

"So _what_ are you going to do about it?" the deputy headmistress of Cackles Academy asked.

"That," Dr. Grisham opened his eyes, the blurry image of the women standing before him slowly coming into focus, "is a matter that I cannot discuss with you. But I assure you that it's being dealt with _harshly_."

Constance nodded, her fists clenched so tightly her knuckles were beginning to turn white.

"Ms. Hardbroom, I apologize," the physician began tentatively, "but I have to ask you….those scars were located on a rather intimate part of Ms. Hubble's body. How did you come across them?"

"How dare you…" Constance spat, but then stopped herself, "I…my apologies. I suppose that is an appropriate thing to inquire about. The girl was scrubbing cauldrons clean in my classroom with a chlorine bleach solution as part of a detention. She had an anaphylactic reaction to the chemical, and I had to have access to her bare thigh in order to administer epinephrine."

"You have epinephrine stored in your lab?" Dr. Grisham asked, impressed.

"Well, of course," she said patronizingly, narrowing her eyes, "you can't really spell someone out of a severe allergic reaction, now can you?"

He smiled broadly. "No…no you can't, Ms. Hardbroom. It's just that many members of the magical community don't see it that way. They'd like to think that witches are immune to most non-magical ailments."

"Absolutely _ridiculous_ ," she spat, and rolled her eyes dramatically, "that's a surefire way to get yourself killed."

Dr. Grisham was attracted to the Potions Mistress on sight, but he felt a rather childish urge to propose marriage right then.

"Dr. Grisham, are you alright? You look rather pale." Constance peered at him skeptically.

"I'm…yes. I'm alright," he said gingerly, embarrassed.

"I suspect Mildred is an asthmatic," Constance said pointedly, unable to discern why the physician could barely maintain eye contact with her.

Dr. Grisham nodded his head emphatically, feeling the burn of her inquisitive gaze. He took off his gold-rimmed spectacles, and cleaned the lenses, despite the fact that there were no smudges on them. "Yes, I suspect that too. I will be returning on the 21st of December to check in with Ms. Hubble, I will bring her an inhaler then."

"Excellent, that is excellent," Constance murmured, casting a dejected look at her shoes, "I just wish I would have known, otherwise I would have never had her use those solutions…"

He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "You mustn't blame yourself, Ms. Hardbroom."

" _Mustn't_ I? All of the obvious indicators were in front of me!" The deputy headmistress crossed her arms tightly and began to pace back and forth across the moonlit carpet, her voice heightening with every word she spoke. "She constantly daydreamed, she wasn't eating, and she _certainly_ wasn't sleeping. She switched from screaming murderously at me in front of all of her peers to, when we were alone, cowering like a beaten dog every time I raised my voice!"

"Ah," Dr. Grisham nodded in understanding, "so you are upset that you didn't come to the conclusion that she had been mistreated?"

Constance threw her hands up in the air. "Certainly! I always thought that she was an inattentive, incapable student! But after I discovered the marks, and she scurried away from me… looking absolutely _terrified_ ….all of the child's behavior since she first came to Cackles became so painfully clear to me!"

Constance turned away from the physician to face the window, her glare boring into the night sky, thoughts racing at Mach speed. When Constance would yell, Mildred cowered because she expected blows to follow. When Constance would rant and Mildred slipped into a daze, she was dissociating. When Constance would publicly berate her, Mildred would become hopelessly inept at whatever task she was attempting to accomplish because she was overwhelmed by feelings of dread due to perceived impending punishment. Those uncharacteristically perceptive looks the girl gave her at the beginning of every detention she had given her, the hyper-alert body language she had whenever an instructor walked into a room, her high emotional reactivity…. _how have I not seen before?_

The forlorn expression on Constances' face reflected visibly off of the glass windowpane. In the name of professionalism, Dr. Grisham suppressed the urge to place a comforting hand on the deputy headmistress' shoulder.

* * *

 **December 12** **th** **, 1999**

 **08:52pm**

Mildred looked quizzically down at the parchment in front of her. She'd already written 'I will value my health in all instances from this point forward' about fifty times. She wasn't dense enough to have to ask Ms. Hardbroom why she had given her an assignment in detention that seemed less like lines and more like a self-affirmation exercise. She tried to feel irritated at it, she really did, but for some reason Ms. Hardbroom's concern didn't feel as intrusive as other adults.

 _Only fifty more to go_. She finished the second half of her assignment in fifteen minutes, and marched it up to the Potions Mistress' desk.

"Ms. Hubble, thank you for finishing so promptly," Constance said stiffly. The older witch laced her fingers together, tapping one of her pinkies on the hard wood of her desk for a moment. "I…" she began awkwardly, then cleared her throat, "I would like to suspend your detentions from here on out. While your outburst in class was a punishable offense, I was not aware that you were dealing with so much strife. Therefore, this will be your last session with me."

Mildred swallowed hard. She felt a pang of disappointment, which quickly morphed into anger. "I'm not a _charity_ case, Ms. Hardbroom. I can finish out the rest of my detentions with you."

Constance looked up. "I am quite aware of that, Ms. Hubble," she said softly, "but it would not be ethical of me to continue to give you detentions in light of what I have discovered."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Mildred exclaimed, positively irked, "I still _screamed_ at you, didn't I?!"

"Yes, Ms. Hubble," the older witch acknowledged calmly, "you did. But in all fairness I did push you. And in light of the….the… _calamity_ that has been characterizing your life as of late, it was an understandable reaction."

Mildred pushed her hair behind her shoulders. "What the bloody _fuck_?" she queried heatedly.

Ms. Hardbroom didn't react. "I'm sympathetic to the fact that your fury is not directed at me, Ms. Hubble."

"Ugh!" Mildred cried, throwing her hands up into the air. "Fine! If you really hate being around me _that_ much, then I'll go!"

"Mildred, that's not-"

"Of course it is!" Mildred grumbled, and began to gather up her things. She kept her back turned to her form mistress and stormed out of the classroom. Ms. Hardbroom didn't try to stop her.

 **09:05pm**

Mildred flopped face down onto her bed. She grabbed two fistfuls of her comforter and screamed furiously into her pillow.

A lump formed in her throat. _Staystrong staystrong staystrong_ she told herself over and over again, and eventually the lump melted, sliding down her windpipe, filling up her lungs, only to wait for its release at another point in time.

* * *

 **December 14** **th** **, 1999**

 **05:13pm**

Sunlight glittered in between the trees of Mistletoe Forest, the rays hitting the patches of frozen earth surrounding Constance such that the whiteness of the snow was almost blinding. She sucked a breath of fresh, cold air in deeply. Nature had always been a place she could retreat to when she felt the need to experience peace.

The sound of trainers crunching in the snow broke her out of her calm trance. She whipped around to find Imogen Drill standing there, her cheeks cherry red from exertion.

"Constance," Imogen greeted her breathlessly.

"Imogen," Constance responded accusingly, "I rarely go out into the forest. Did you _follow_ me?"

Imogen glanced at her surreptitiously through her blonde lashes. "Well…maybe. Actually, yes. Yes I did."

"Pray tell, Imogen," Constance said bitterly, thoroughly displeased that the younger woman had interrupted her solitude, " _why_ would you do such a thing?"

"I tried to find you earlier, in the Castle," Imogen bent over, putting her hands on her knees and drawing in several deep breaths, "but you were absent in the dining hall during breakfast and lunch."

"Indeed," Constance replied, crossing her arms over her chest. She certainly was not going to tell the Gym Mistress _why_. "What matter is so _urgent_ to you that you felt the need to creep about in the forest to find me?"

"Ms. Cackles informed me that you have been made aware of Mildred Hubble's situation."

Constance scoffed. "And you thought you'd be able to get _details_ from me, I suppose?"

Imogen narrowed her eyes. " _Certainly_ not. I would never invade Mildred's privacy like that."

"Yet you found it prudent to invade _mine?_ " Constance intoned, and Imogen opened her mouth, but before her younger colleague could say anything, she continued, "Or is this your opportunity to say 'I told you so'? Well, congratulations, you've gotten it. You were right, I was wrong."

Imogen's expression immediately softened. "Constance, I would never hold this over your head like some schoolyard child. To be honest…," the short-haired woman laced her fingers around the back of her neck nervously, "I just wanted to…I don't know…commiserate I guess? I've been feeling incredibly guilty that I did not see the signs in Ms. Hubble during her first year, and Ms. Cackles would rather not discuss her feelings regarding the matter. So, you…I know we don't always get along…but I know you care for the children. I suppose I just thought that maybe I could relate to you…or something."

Constance uncrossed her arms, adopting a less defiant posture in response to Imogen's awkward diatribe. "Imogen, you are correct insofar as that we both feel a certain amount of…regret regarding this situation. But I hardly see how speaking with me would be of any aid to you, as Ms. Hubble and I don't interact that often."

Imogen cocked her head to the side, puzzled. "Isn't she in your classroom for detentions three nights out of the week?"

"Not at present," Constance relayed to her, "I suspended them after I found out about what she had been going through."

"Wow," Imogen said, rather amazed, "that was quite… _empathetic_ of you."

Constance scowled. "Contrary to popular belief, Imogen, my heart is not made of ice. Nor do I quench my thirst nightly with the blood of infants."

Imogen snorted. "I _knew_ it wasn't true!"

The corners of Constance's mouth twitched. "Yes, well. Despite my rather _uncharacteristic_ display of sensitivity, the girl was infuriated that I suspended her detentions."

Imogen's eyes widened in surprise. "Now that… _that_ is interesting."

Constance shook her head. "I don't understand why the child would be so angry!"

Imogen paused thoughtfully. After a moment, she said, "She wants your attention, Constance. Something about you, she wants to be around. Even _after_ you discovered what you did."

"But why?"

"I have _no_ idea," Imogen said with a grimace, "you definitely don't make yourself approachable to most of the students. But maybe that's it. Ever since Amelia and I found out, we've been treating her very gently… _maternally,_ even. She _hates_ it, and avoids us as much as possible. But you…she's angry that you are pulling away from her after you found out. I suspect that you may be someone she's eventually willing to confide in."

Constance took a step back, reviled at the thought. "The girl needs a confidant, but I am certainly not an _appropriate_ person to fulfill that role…Nor am I willing."

" _Really?_ " Imogen was flabbergasted, "for _what_ reason?"

Constance did not want to answer that question for Imogen (or for _herself_ , for that matter). "There are certainly better qualified adults for her to speak with, Imogen, including you and Amelia."

"Are you bloody _serious?"_ Imogen exclaimed, the pink light from the setting sun glinting off of her dark blue irises, "Amelia and I would _kill_ to have her want to confide in us. You're going to just throw that away?"

"I am throwing _nothing_ away," Constance hissed indignantly, "if I had _wanted_ a career counselling troubled youth, I would have selected Mind Healing as my major in college."

Imogen was enraged. "You claim to care about children, but selfishly turn away from one who wants your help? You _disappoint_ me, Constance."

Constance looked coldly down her nose at Imogen. "That doesn't influence me in the slightest. The opinion of a _non-witch_ carries no weight."

Imogen put her hands on her hips, looking up to glare daggers at the tall Potions Mistress. "You're a cold, hard _bitch_."

"You're a meddling little _minger_!" Constance yelled. She latched onto an ensuing argument like a drowning man latched onto a life raft; _anything_ to change the subject.

" _You're_ a self-aggrandizing spoil sport!" Imogen spat.

"Untalented _urchin_!"

" _Heartless_ hag!"

"Dodgy _dimwit_!"

"Iron-fisted _trollop_!"

"Barmy _midget_!" Before Imogen could retaliate, Constance disappeared in a puff of purple smoke, leaving an irate Gym Mistress alone in a progressively darkening forest.

* * *

 **December 16** **th** **, 1999**

 **4:05 am**

" _Fucking Slag!"_

Constance awoke with a start, her nightgown drenched with sweat, her heart pounding at a rapid pace.

 _This has to stop._

Ever since she had seen the horrendous scars marring Mildred's thighs, she couldn't stop thinking, or _dreaming_ about how the young girl had gotten them. Her personal stability was threatened by this constant wondering. Every time she conjured up a possible scenario in her mind, she was filled with the same insidious mortification she had felt when Hecate had thrown her face down onto a desk to shear the flesh of her exposed back with a cane.

God help her if Mildred actually _talked_ to her about her experiences; she would probably be reduced to a whimpering mess before the child and she would _not_ allow that to happen. Mildred's presence _alone_ poured salt into ancient wounds that had never properly healed.

 _Maybe helping her would help_ _ **you**_ _._

The thought was unexpected, and seized her with an overwhelming power. She was not one to engage in deep self-reflection, so she inwardly slapped herself, grabbed that sliver of realization that had just popped into her head, and buried it deep under years of contrived apathy. It made everything so much easier, it always had; ever since she was a child.

* * *

 **December 18** **th** **, 1999**

 **11:08am**

Mildred looked across the room, and sneered at the sight of Ms. Hardbroom doting on Ethel in lieu of her perfectly brewed potion. She looked into her cauldron, and stirred her brew three times in a counter clockwise direction.

 _I hate her. The bitch can't even look at me._

Mildred glowered. Ms. Hardbroom hadn't even attempted to reprimand her when she had clearly not been paying attention during lecture. She hadn't nodded in her direction, she hadn't come to check on how her assignment was faring, she'd given her _nothing_. Mildred felt invalidated, minimized, tossed to the side like a piece of garbage.

 _Everyone leaves_ she thought bitterly, and turned back to brewing her potion.

* * *

 _Wake up, and face me_

 _Don't play dead, cause maybe_

 _Someday I will walk away_

 _and say_

" _You disappoint me….maybe you're better off this way."_

* * *

Authors Note: I take no ownership of the creative property of Jill Murphy or A Perfect Circle. Dr. Grisham crushing on HB was in my original plan for the story…so don't worry it's not some random tangent I'm going to go off on; it's carefully crafted into the plot to help deliver the overall message. Gotta have a little light in the world of the dark and angsty fanfic .

German Witch: You are most certainly not stupid! It's just that when I changed the rating to M, it disappeared from the front page because fanfiction DOT net has an auto-setting that only displays stories rated K-T initially under any given category. Just scroll down to the ratings bar at the bottom and select 'Rating: All' and then this story should appear on the first page.


	7. Familiar Sting

_Chapter Seven: Familiar Sting_

 **Dec 19th, 1999**

 **12:33pm**

Mildred studied the ornately decorated Christmas tree at the front of the dining hall. It stood about fifty feet (15.24 meters) high, so close to the ceiling that in order to fit the large silver star on it the tip had to be bent to the side in a rather unflattering manner. Ms. Cackles had called it "charmingly unique,"; and Mildred supposed she was referring to herself and her unorthodox way of running the academy rather than the tree.

 _Unique is only charming when you_ _ **embrace**_ _it._

Mildred not only did not embrace her uniqueness; she often figuratively pushed it off the edge of a cliff down into a deep ravine below. Despite her attempts to assassinate that part of herself, people always seemed to pick up on it within seconds of meeting her.

Christmas was rapidly approaching, and soon all of her peers would leave Cackles, followed by all of the teachers with the exception of Constance Hardbroom. She had managed to escape spending the holiday with people that hated her in a _house_ to spending the holiday with people that hated her in a _large castle_.

 _It figures_ she thought, spearing a green bean mercilessly with her fork.

"Christ, Mildred. What did vegetables ever do to you?" Enid plopped down next to her at the lunch table.

"Made my mouth taste like shit, mostly," Mildred shot back, smirking.

"Mmm, fair enough," Enid began to load her plate with biscuits, "but why put them on your plate in the first place, then?"

"I want to see them _suffer_ ," Mildred said ominously, then giggled.

"That tree looks _ghastly_ ," Maud exclaimed, settling herself on the other side of Mildred.

Mildred grinned. "Maud, it's charmingly unique!"

Maud groaned and began to fill her plate with food. Mildred's eyes travelled over to the head table, and she was surprised to see the deputy headmistress sitting there. Ms. Hardbroom had been absent from all the meals in the dining hall since she had discovered Mildred's unsightly scars. The older witch met her eyes for a moment and rapidly looked away.

"Maybe you should go back to threatening your green beans, Mildred," Enid said apprehensively, "if you stare at her that murderously she may increase the frequency of your detentions."

"She suspended my detentions, actually," Mildred said airily, her eyes still fixed on her Potions Mistress. _What, you scared now? You scared of me now that I'm not that clumsy little girl and I'm actually a young woman who's been through some real life? Fucking coward._

" _Mildred_ ," Maud interrupted her bitter train of thought, "when did this happen? Why did she suspend them?"

"Yeah, Mildred," Enid chimed in, "That's kind of a big development."

Mildred sighed audibly and turned towards her two friends. "Two days ago," she lied, "I let something slip about my situation from my parents. I guess she felt sorry for me or something, but it's irritating. I don't _want_ any special treatment."

They both look shocked.

"Mildred….that was actually quite nice of her. Maybe she realized that your outburst was due to her pushing you when you were going through a difficult time," Maud said.

"I don't really think of it as 'nice', Maud," Mildred said sourly, "I think of it as 'guilty'. If she _really_ was a nice person she wouldn't have pushed me that hard in the first place, Ward of the Magistrate or not."

"Besides," Enid offered, "someone who drinks the blood of infants to replenish their energy is unlikely to be the _empathetic_ type."

Maud huffed. "I don't think _either_ of you are being fair. No one is perfect."

"I'm sorry," Mildred said, knowing that the 'morally outraged' Maud always needed to be handled sensitively, "It's just personal bias on my part. Your point has some validity to it, Maud. I just don't know if I'm in a place to acknowledge that."

Maud's facial muscles relaxed, and she flashed a small smile. Mildred could practically _hear_ Enid's internal eye roll.

* * *

 **Dec 21** **st** **, 1999**

 **09:45am**

Mildred fidgeted nervously. Another morning, another visit from the physician. She was not too keen on talking to him; he had a way of seeing past her angry defenses that most other adults did not. Maud & Enid had left for home the previous day, and watching her two friends excitedly babble about the emotional intimacy they shared with their parents made Mildred feel unexpectedly jealous. She had quashed that feeling immediately with a razor.

"Mildred, it's splendid to see you again!" Dr. Grisham greeted her with a grin and a wink as he strolled into the courtyard.

"Why did you want to meet me out here?" She asked, rubbing her hands together. The snow fell intermittently, the icy breeze chapping her lips and reddening her cheeks.

"Ah, that's the Mildred I know. Jumps right into questions as usual," Dr. Grisham stuffed his hands in his coat pockets and settled himself on the stone bench next to his patient. "I wanted to meet with you here because I wanted to demonstrate to you how to use an inhaler. Since you can see your breath in the freezing air it will make for a better instruction session."

Mildred shrugged and muttered, "Maybe you could leave out the forced camaraderie at the beginning and just answer the question directly next time."

"Maybe you could stop showing such a lack of respect for people who have only treated you kindly," Dr. Grisham retorted.

Mildred looked down at her palms. "I didn't ask for you to come into my life."

Dr. Grisham considered her statement for a moment, knitted his brow, and nodded his head. "Fair enough, Mildred."

Mildred tried not to groan. _What the hell am I supposed to say to that?_

"So, you will be spending the Christmas holiday with your instructors here at Cackles?" Dr. Grisham made small talk as he fished around in his brown leather bag for Mildred's inhaler.

"Just Ms. Hardbroom," Mildred said glumly.

Dr. Grisham pulled the inhaler out of his bag and set it carefully in his lap; then took his spectacles off to clean the melted snowflakes from the lenses. "Oh, well that should be lovely," he said in a rather distracted voice.

"Yes," Mildred said sarcastically, "I'm _sure_ Ms. Hardbroom and I will skip merrily throughout the castle, decorating all the hallways with tinsel to commemorate the Christmas holiday."

Dr. Grisham snorted loudly at the image that Mildred's statement conjured up in his mind.

"Unlikely, Mildred. She'll be in the North Pole pushing all of the elves to produce toys at a faster rate to meet the Christmas Eve Deadline."

Mildred put a great amount of effort into suppressing the urge to laugh, but she did let herself smile.

Dr. Grisham reached into his coat pocket and retrieved a pair of black gloves which he then put on. He then reached into his lap and retrieved an L-shaped object with a light blue plastic exterior. "This," he raised it to Mildred's eye level, "is an inhaler. I will now demonstrate to you how to use it."

Mildred was impressed by how succinct and clear the physician's instructions were. He even explained the disease process of asthma in a way that was understandable at a laymen's level. _He'd make a great professor._

She tucked the inhaler into the pocket of her cloak. She was intent on muttering a quick goodbye and retreating to the castle, but a small, very frightened part of her urged her to stay. Mildred looked to her side at Dr. Grisham, sizing up his character in her mind before speaking.

"I wanted to….thank you."

His eyebrows shot up so rapidly that the movement of his facial muscles almost knocked his glasses off the bridge of his nose. "That…." he cleared his throat, "was rather unexpected. Whatever for, Mildred?"

Mildred looked apprehensively between her boots and his face several times. "For not treating me any different, you know. After you found out. I know we only knew each other for all but fifteen minutes before you found out about my…situation. But you didn't treat me any differently. Most people avoid me or pity me or act like I'm going to fall apart at any moment after they discover those things."

"Ah," he pondered her words for a moment, then crossed his arms across his chest to conserve body heat. "Well, Mildred. You are welcome. It is unfortunate that what you are experiencing from other people are those reactions…it only adds to the trauma of the whole ordeal. I would encourage you to be patient with those around you, they don't have any sort of professional training in these areas. Most don't know how to act, and probably don't realize that their change in behavior is hurting you."

"Well I wouldn't say they're _hurting_ me," Mildred remarked defensively, " _annoying_ me is more like it."

Dr. Grisham almost rolled his eyes. "What ever you say, Mildred. In any case, I want you to know that no matter what you confide in me, I will never treat you differently," he paused for a moment, tapping a gloved finger against his closed lips, "Well, if you were to confide in me that you've drowned a litter of puppies I might judge you a _bit_."

Mildred actually laughed out loud. "You're kind of mad _yourself_ , aren't you Doctor?"

He smirked. "You have no idea."

"That's what I'm thanking you for, I suppose," Mildred said thoughtfully, "your madness. No matter what you find out about me, you just treat me like a normal witch. And though I know I'm in no way, shape or form normal, you treating me as though I am really helps…in some way."

Dr. Grisham smiled sadly. "I'm glad it does, Mildred. Come, lets go inside. You must be freezing."

* * *

 **10:24am**

"Ms. Hardbroom," Dr. Grisham acknowledged the potions mistress; who had arrived in the entrance room to Amelia Cackles office mere seconds before he.

"Hello, Doctor," she said rather demurely, tilting her head in his direction.

"Are you waiting to speak with Amelia as well?" He asked, feeling heat creep up his cheeks.

"Yes, but it's not incredibly urgent. You may go in first if you'd like." Constance immediately sensed his attraction. It was quite obvious, really; his sweaty palms, his flushed appearance, his nervous shifting.

"Ah, uh...thank you, Ms Hardbroom. I would prefer that, actually. I have several appointments later today and I'd like to be on time for them," Dr. Grisham responded, more-so to a spot on the carpet than to her.

"Right, then. I don't believe she is busy at the moment," Constance really wished Dr. Grisham would leave. She _loathed_ to be around men who fancied her.

"Ahem, yes. I'm...well...I'll go in now then. I'll...it was...good to see you," Dr. Grisham said haphazardly, and disappeared into Amelia's office.

* * *

 **11:11am**

"Constance, dear! You may come in now." The deputy head snapped out of a daze upon hearing Amelia's voice, and made her way into her bosses office.

Once inside, Constance looked around the room, puzzled. "Dr. Grisham is gone? I did not see him leave."

"Constance, he can materialize himself. He's one of the only wizards in Britain with that capability," Amelia informed her.

 _Even I have to be impressed with that_. "Well, that certainly explains it."

Both women jumped when they heard a muffled giggle come from the tall cupboard in the corner of the office.

"Davina, really?" Amelia griped, annoyed.

Davina Bat emerged from the cupboard, making a staunch effort to avoid eye contact.

She seemed both ashamed and amused. Constance scowled. _Not an uncommon mix of moods for her, is it?_

"How long were you in there?" Amelia demanded, clearly displeased.

Davina shuffled towards her boss until she was side-by-side with Constance. "Oh, an hour I think..."

"An HOUR?!" Amelia all but shrieked.

"Oh, relax Amelia. It was only long enough to see you speak with that handsome Doctor," Davina wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

Ms. Cackles crossed her arms across her chest and huffed, but it was obvious she was holding back a smile. "Davina, those conversations are private. I don't like you eavesdropping."

Davina waved her hand dismissively, "Oh come now, Amelia. Every time I hear a students name mentioned I just sing a Mongolian lullaby to myself and it prevents me from hearing things I'm not supposed to hear."

Constance exhaled loudly. "I do have something to discuss with the headmistress, Davina. I don't care how many lullabies you sing to yourself, I _don't_ want you in here."

"Oh. Yes, yes. I can leave," Davina headed towards the door, but paused to speak before she left. "That Doctor is quite fond of you, Constance," she said in a very quiet voice, "he can barely say your name without turning red as a tomato."

"It's true," Amelia agreed, and smiled broadly.

"THAT is NONE of your concern!" Constance bellowed, feeling a sudden, inexplicable burst of rage churn within her.

Her frustration only seemed to amuse Amelia and Davina more, and the two older witches began laughing raucously. Had it been any other subject, Constance would have likely rolled her eyes and moved on, but because they were teasing her about a man...a man who fancied her...

 _Hecate smacked Constance across the face, and then began to cackle. "You- a-actually think that man f-fancies you?!" she exclaimed between laughs. "Constance, you are a decrepit looking waste of space. There is no conceivable way any man could ever want anything to do with you beyond a quick fuck..."_

 _Constance opened her mouth to protest, but Hecate slapped her again with such force that she landed on her back on the classroom floor..._

"BOTH OF YOU! STOP IT!" Constance roared, shaking with so much fury that blue sparks began to fly from her finger tips. She hated the feeling of helplessness that seized her whenever she thought about Hecate, and she hated Amelia and Davina for reminding her of Hecate. _I want to burn those impish grins right off of their faces._ Constance set her jaw and fixed the two women with the most withering look she could manage.

"Constance..." Amelia said cautiously, "We apologize if-"

"Whom fancies me is _none of your concern,_ " Constance growled, "you should stick to the things that are familiar to you, Amelia. Eating cheesecake and trying to convince yourself you actually know how to run a school. And you..."

Constance pointed a bony finger at Davina, who was holding onto Amelia's arms and cowering slightly. "You had best keep your mouth shut, _Davina,_ " Constance said menacingly, her eyes glittering, "now…make like Harry Potter and GET BACK IN YOUR CUPBOARD!"

Davina shrieked and bolted to her safe haven, as directed.

Twenty seconds of silence followed.

"Constance," Amelia breathed, her eyes shining, "what on earth... Do you _enjoy_ causing others pain?"

Constance knew that she had felt ecstatic while Davina was cowering in her presence, effectively surrendering her personal power to her by not standing up for herself. Constance also knew that there was a dark part of her that wanted to bring suffering upon others. But she sure as hell wasn't going to admit that.

"I don't- I didn't mean to be so cruel." Constance said, her abating anger turning to shame. The muffled sobs coming through the cupboards thin wooden doors were hard to ignore.

Amelia curled her lip into a sneer, which looked downright alien on her face. "I have tried with you, Constance. I really have. But for some reason you are _intent_ on spreading your misery to whom ever you can."

"Amelia, I-" Constance protested.

"Leave my office _now,_ Constance," Amelia interrupted. Her voice sounded strangled.

Constance nodded her head "yes", but remained rooted where she stood, as if her shock at Amelia's behavior (and her own, for that matter) had taken executive control of her body.

"NOW!" Amelia yelled, startling her deputy head into movement. As Constance hastily stepped over the threshold between the headmistress' office and entrance room, she caught the older woman's faint whisper; "Please...leave before I stoop to your level."

* * *

 **Dec 22, 1999**

 **2:27pm**

"Remember to owl me if you need anything, dear," Amelia Cackles fussed over Mildred, rubbing her pupils shoulders even though the girl showed no signs of being cold.

"I will, Ms. Cackles," Mildred said with forced politeness, "Have a wonderful holiday, Miss."

"You too, Mildred," Amelia smiled at her through the flurry of snow. She stepped forward, as if to hug her, then caught herself before she touched her pupil. "Goodbye."

Mildred nodded, and Amelia turned away from her.

Ms. Hardbroom, who was standing just inside the stone entrance to Cackles Academy walked over to her boss, passing Mildred without acknowledging her existence. She paused for a moment, as though unsure of herself, then tapped Ms. Cackles gently on the shoulder to get her attention.

"Oh, Constance," Ms. Cackles said, and wrapped the younger woman in a rather uncomfortable-looking hug, "I'm sorry I lost my temper with you yesterday. You know I love you a great deal and I want nothing but happiness for you."

 _Ms. Cackles lost her temper with Ms. Hardbroom and wasn't hexed into oblivion?_ Mildred thought, aghast. She considered making her way back to the castle, but decided to continue to shamelessly gawk at the intimate exchange between two of her superiors.

"Likewise, Amelia," Constance whispered stiffly, clearly trying to pry herself out of the embrace.

When Ms. Cackles pulled back, she had tears glittering in her eyes. "Please don't hesitate to get in touch with me either, Constance. I want to know how you fare this Christmas."

Ms. Hardbroom had finally managed to free herself from Ms. Cackles arms. "Amelia, I will be perfectly fine here. I haven't needed anyone to check on my well-being for nearly _twenty_ years."

Even through the heavily falling snow, Mildred could see the wounded look on Ms. Cackles' face. "Right then, Constance. I'm off." Without another word, the headmistress of Cackles Academy mounted her broom, and disappeared into the night. Ms. Hardbroom stared at the receding form of her boss until she was just a small speck in the sky.

She turned to find Mildred watching her.

"Please go inside before you catch frostbite, Ms. Hubble," Ms. Hardbroom said, her tone vacant, her expression blank.

Mildred sneered. "Why do you care? I'll be dead to you _either_ way." Before the deputy head could answer her, Mildred vanished into the castle.

* * *

 **11:54pm**

Constance wrapped her cloak around her thin frame. Even though the castle was completely closed against the winter storm outside, the cold draft in the hallways was unbearable. So much so, in fact, that she had to wear an extra layer under her silk maroon pajamas.

"Ice queen, indeed," she muttered, making her way up the stone staircase that led to the 2nd year girls dormitories. She was quite uncomfortable being alone with Mildred Hubble in the castle, it only served to excavate long repressed guilt and shame from her internal burial ground.

After reaching the top of the steps, she made several turns within the labyrinth of the 2nd year floor until she was standing by Mildred's room. As she reached for the door handle, she heard a muffled scream. Instantaneously, she materialized herself into the room at the foot of Mildred's bed.

Constance's adrenaline levels dropped immediately when she realized that Mildred was in no tangible peril; she was simply in the midst of night terror.

Sweat covered the girls pale and grimacing face, making her forehead and cheeks glint in the moonlight. Her bedsheet and comforter made a crumpled mess at the bottom of her bed. Strands of dark hair were matted against the side of her face, and the muscles beneath her collarbone fluttered rapidly due to hyperventilation. A portion of her bed linen was wrapped around her left ankle. She repeatedly raised her arms to her face and winced as though she was diverting a blow from an attacker. She then let out a bloodcurdling scream that rattled Constance's spine.

Mildred then wrapped her arms tightly around her midsection, and kicked both legs violently.

"GERRRR OFF!" She half mumbled, half sobbed. Her diaphragm spasmed and she arched her back.

Constance knew better than to wake someone, especially a child, from a night terror. Everything in her was telling her to leave, but some small part of her kept her feet glued to the ground.

When Constance had made up her mind to stay, she moved Mildred's bedside table across the room to prevent the girl from injuring herself. For the next 45 minutes, she watched Mildred's dreams torture her. Once the thrashing and whimpering had ceased, Constance materialized herself out of the dormitory before the girl could sense her presence.

* * *

 **Dec 23, 1999**

 **11:23am**

 **Ms. Hubble,**

 **Please come to the Potions classroom at 11:30 sharp. There is a matter that I must discuss with you.**

 **Regards,**

 **Constance Hardbroom**

 **Deputy Headmistress of Cackles Academy**

Mildred re-read the formal note that she had received that morning at breakfast. She felt anxious and annoyed; her Professor had made a substantial attempt to avoid interacting with her over the last two weeks and now she was _summoning_ her? She had been standing outside of the Potions classroom for the last twenty minutes, debating with herself about why the older witch wanted to talk to her. She checked her watch, and given the time, she knocked sharply on the classroom door.

"Enter," she heard her teacher's voice through the door. She walked inside, and immediately observed how tired her professor looked. The impeccably tight bun that Hardbroom normally wore her hair in was on the verge of falling out, and she had dark circles under her eyes.

Despite being taken aback, Mildred said neutrally, "You wanted to talk to me, Miss?"

"Yes, girl" Ms. Hardbroom said, and then added, "you can come closer, if you'd like."

Mildred acknowledged how ridiculous she looked giving her professor a twenty-foot berth. She strode forward.

"Ms. Hubble, I want to give you this," Constance motioned towards a small, corked glass vial sitting on her desk, "it's called 'Slumber Draught'. Two drops on your tongue before bed each night will substantially reduce the frequency of your nightmares."

Mildred stared at the maroon liquid in the vial for a moment before she met her teacher's eyes. "Pardon me Miss, but how do you know I have nightmares?" she used an excessively polite tone in an attempt to overcompensate for the irritation that rose within her.

"Ms. Hubble, as I am your only caretaker on the premises at present; it is my duty to conduct my nightly checks at _your_ dormitory. My checks are generally conducted quite late in the evening. I heard..." Constance paused awkwardly, "noises of fear through your dormitory door. Suspecting danger, I entered and saw you in the throes of a night terror. Given your frequently fatigued appearance this term, I suspect that episodes of the kind have been a common occurrence."

Mildred stiffened. _Keep your composure. You're mad that she spied on you but keep your composure._ Mildred took a deep breath. "Oh. Well, I appreciate the gesture," the young witch said, nodding towards the vial on Constance's desk, "but I don't want it."

Constance rubbed the back of her neck with one hand, and sighed. "Mildred Hubble, it will _improve your health_ if you obtain restful sleep. I do not see why you are refusing aid."

"I don't want aid," Mildred blurted out before she could check herself.

Constance met her eyes with a piercing glare. "Clearly," she remarked coldly. _Her petulance never ceases to irk me._

Constance's challenging look triggered even more of Mildreds anger. "Ms. Hardbroom, I don't _need_ aid," Mildred insisted, "and I'd really rather not have any further discussions about my nightmares with you."

Constance was infuriated, mostly because she could tell that Mildred was infuriated. The intensity that surrounded Mildred's situation had exhausted her. Brewing that potion had exhausted her. And to top it all off, the person at the center of where most of her energy had gone was not only unappreciative, but _angry_? The older witch was _tired_ of monitoring everything she said around her pupil as if the girl was made of glass.

"So you are just going to _reject_ anyone or anything that could potentially help you?" Constance spat, "you are going to continue to selfishly suffer in silence, completely ignorant of the fact that those who bear witness to it suffer as well!"

"Why do you _think_ I don't want to say anything?! People get disturbed, worried, and uncomfortable when they find out ugly things!" Mildred exclaimed, her face beet red, her chest heaving, her mind racing.

 _Don't letitout….. ihaveto….don't say it…. I'm goingtoleavemealone…. DON'T!... I'm GOING TO!_

" _You_ for fucking example," Mildred hissed with such venom in her voice that Constance started slightly, "you know the _most_. And now you can't even look at me, it reminds you of the _filthy_ things you saw. Why would I want to burden someone who _actually_ cares for me with that?"

Constance closed her eyes. The girl was partially right. She had expended a great deal of energy trying to get the images of those _scars_ out of her head…and it had been burdensome.

"But _you_ are not the burden," Constance finished her thought aloud, "the cross you bear was imposed on you by others. Nonetheless, Mildred, it is painful to see you bear it so _poorly_."

Mildred shook her head incredulously. _Who the hell does she think she is? The bitch can't just pretend I don't exist and then offer me aid when it's convenient for her._

"Oh _fuck_ you," Mildred raged, "you feel no pain for me. _You. don't. care. about. me._ All you want to do is make me feel worse, this is just a new way to shame me."

Constance blinked; so unfamiliar with all the uncomfortable feelings Mildred's statement had elicited that it was hard to ascertain which of the many emotions that brewed within her was situation-appropriate. _I am the adult, she is the child. I am the adult, she is the child. Adults protect children, even ones they don't like. Adults protect children, especially from themselves._ Her inner mantra was only vaguely soothing.

"Mildred, if I am the only person at this academy that you are convinced does not care for your well-being," Constance said slowly, analytically, "why does my attention, or lack thereof; matter so much to you?"

Mildred felt sick. "It _doesn't_!" she yelled exasperatedly and looked away, "I'm just stuck in this _stupid_ castle with you!"

 _So it does matter._

"Are you certain? You have only expressed disdain when those you know _do_ care for you try to engage you in discussions about your current predicament," Constance responded, "but when the person you claim _doesn't_ care for you makes _no_ attempt to ask about your sensitive situation, you become disdainful. That leads me to believe that you are angry that I did not make more of an effort to engage with you after discovering what I did." Constance felt ethically irked that she was speaking to her student like she was some sort of psychological lab specimen; but it was the only way for her to present herself in a composed manner to the clearly terrified child before her.

Mildred opened and closed her mouth. _That bitch. Back track. Do not validate that._

Mildred desperately grasped for defenses, the situation becoming less infuriating and more nauseating by the second. _There is no way you can let her know she's right. Do anything. Disprove it._ So Mildred resorted to something that she was intimately familiar with, but had rarely perpetrated: malice.

Mildred put her hands on her hips, cocked her head slightly, adopting a defensive posture and a condescending smirk. "So you're a self-professed Mind Healer now?" Mildred began derisively, "In _addition_ to being the only adult the poor little abused girl wants to confide her secrets in? You really are full of yourself. I suppose deluding yourself into believing you're really _that_ important helps you numb the pain of having _no_ man and _no_ family to go home to." She punctuated the insult with a mirthless laugh, and was horrified at how much she sounded like her own mother.

Despite her self-disgust, Mildred continued, "If you honestly want to know why I've been so frustrated with your change in attitude it's because you're not letting me fuck with you anymore. It's been fun to push your buttons. I _used_ to be able to piss off my pathetic, uptight and lonely professor so easily! By doing nothing more than, say, making innocent, novice mistakes when preparing potions ingredients," she paused for effect, letting her words sink in, "Tightly wound, bitter people like you are the easiest targets, because you're so desperate to make yourself matter, you practically _look_ for things to offend you. I really enjoy watching _bitches_ like you chase their tails in an attempt to feel valuable, when in reality, you have _no_ purpose and _no one_ wants you around."

The tense silence that fell between them was almost electric.

Constance's hands shook. " _Get. The. Hell. Out_." the older witch snarled. Her self-control was waning rapidly, and it took everything in her to not threaten Mildred with several very painful curses.

Mildred forced herself to sneer and chuckle. "Gladly. Enjoy your day, Miss."

The second the classroom door closed, Constance seized the vial of slumber draught sitting on her desk and hurled it across the room with a scream. The subsequent sound of glass shattering against the stone wall, however, did only little to quell her seething rage.

* * *

 **11:56am**

Mildred dry heaved over the edge of her bed, sickened by shame over what she had just done.

 _I sounded just like_ _ **her**_ _._

She felt as if stone fingers had wrapped themselves tightly around both of her lungs, crushing the air out of her mouth. She drew in shuddering breaths, the urge to sob nearly impossible to resist.

 _You can't. You can't do it. If that first tear falls, others will follow and it will_ _ **never end.**_

She couldn't help but believe the voice. In her experience, every time she had given in the weeping had taken over her completely, and had only brought more pain upon her from the outside world. Determined to win the battle with her agony, she grabbed the first sharp object in reach (an uncapped pen on her nightstand) and used the tip to tear into the skin of her forearm until a puddle of blood and ink had formed on the floor beneath her.

* * *

 **Dec 24** **th** **, 1999**

 **12:11am**

Constance pulled the bedsheet over her head and groaned audibly. She had thrown herself into organizing potions ingredients in her lab for the rest of the day to calm herself down, and she still found herself ruminating furiously over the girls words late into the evening. She was slightly relieved that she had found an alternative to physically being near Mildred had she conducted her traditional nightly check. In the late afternoon, she had spelled the girls dormitory with a monitoring charm, which would wake her instantly if Mildred attempted to leave her room between 11pm-6am or was in any physical danger.

Constance had no desire to see the child in the near future, the insults were so fresh that she didn't know if she could trust herself not to spell the girls mouth shut the second she came into view. Her loneliness was a sensitive topic, and Mildred had ripped open her old injuries in an impressively sadistic manner.

Had the girl spoken to her that way a mere three months ago, Constance would have been over the moon because she would have finally been able to convince Amelia that the girls expulsion was warranted. Not to mention that all of her pre-conceived notions about the girl would have been validated. But the context in which the insults were formulated simply gave Constance more evidence that the girl was dealing with a considerable amount of trauma and was reacting defensively. Oh yes, Constance would have liked to _believe_ that Mildred was a secret sadist, but she knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that the infernal child did not have a malicious bone in her body.

But what was she to do? Earlier that day, she had unintentionally confirmed to herself that Mildred was hurt that she had not offered her support after finding out about the abuse. She had already known, via observation, that Mildred was indifferent to the support of substantially more qualified and approachable adults. That could only mean that something about Constances' attention, moreso than theirs, was more valuable to Mildred.

Her mind reeled. The extent of her psychological training had been a two week overview of 'Alternative Mind Healing Methods' in her Non-Magical studies course at Weirdsister College some twenty years ago. She remembered nothing from it that would be of any use in dissecting the irrationality of Mildred's behavior.

Constance sighed in frustration. _Why would she be so dismissive of Amelia and Imogen's valid concern yet hurt so greatly by_ _ **my**_ _indifference? The entire time she has attended this school,_ _ **they**_ _have shown her nothing but patience and understanding and I have shown her nothing more than disdain and disapproval._

 _Disapproval…disapproval….._

Suddenly, Imogen's words from their conversation a month prior rang loudly in Constances' head:

 _"_ _I have seen how she consistently attempts to impress you, and accepts your berating as though she believes she deserves nothing more than insults and_ _ **disapproval**_ _. It is obvious that she attaches to abusive adults, because she has been raised by abusive adults, and will only seek to get approval or love from abusive adults_ _ **."**_

Constance felt ill. She had never considered herself to be _abusive_. She protected her students.

 _I was simply trying to protect the girl from her_ _ **own**_ _incompetence!_ she insisted to herself.

Her stomach twisted as a small voice inside of her head countered her: _Constance, you_ _ **enjoyed**_ _shaming her. It made you feel powerful._

She felt hot tears prick the back of her eyes. Had she been an objective observer of her interactions with Mildred, she would have charged herself with acting exactly like Hecate Broomhead had with her. Constance's breath hitched. _I didn't beat her with a cane, like_ _ **Hecate**_ _would have._ A lump formed in her throat.

 _But you_ _ **wanted**_ _to._

And for the first time in nearly eight years, Constance wept.

* * *

 _The needle tears a hole; the old familiar sting._

 _Try to kill it all away,_

 _But I remember everything._

 _What have I become? My sweetest friend_

 _Everyone I know goes away in the end._

 _And you could have it all; my Empire of Dirt._

 _I will let you down,_

 _I will make you hurt._

Authors Note: I take no ownership of the creative property of Jill Murphy or the band Nine Inch Nails. For those of you wondering, this story will have a total of thirteen chapters. Sorry it took me longer than usual for the update; I'm moving places right now and that sucked up all of my time during the last week.


	8. Mercy

_Chapter 8: Mercy_

 **Dec 24th, 1999**

 **8:38am**

Mildred stared absentmindedly at the ornaments that covered the Christmas tree in the dining hall. She counted seven nutcracker men, twenty orbs of various colors sporting glittering reindeers, and over thirty red and white plastic candy canes. She smirked. The majestic pine before her outdid the sparsely decorated excuse for a tree that had sat in her parents living room year after year. Had she not been incarcerated, Mrs. Hubble would likely be accusing her husband of spending his Christmas bonus on jewelry for his new secretary, and he would likely retaliate by smashing his fist into the side of her face and locking himself in the master bedroom with a full bottle of Wild Turkey.

Mildred supposed she would have a marginally better Christmas than usual, as she had just been informed via the morning post that Enid and Maud would be coming to visit the next day. She felt guilty that she had given her two best friends so much grief over the past several months, and resolved herself to act as chipper and content as possible in their presence so they would not feel robbed of their annual holiday celebration.

 _Maybe I will actually enjoy it, as well._

Mildred shook her head, knowing that her mental notion was absolutely ridiculous. She slumped her shoulders and dipped her spoon into the cold oatmeal before her, forcing herself to take a bite even though her breakfast was barely palatable at that point. She heard footsteps echo in the distance, and began to shovel her food into her mouth at a faster rate. She did not want to chance seeing Ms. Hardbroom given the horrid tiff between them the previous day.

Mildred didn't realize how large the last spoonful she took was, and swallowed the lump of congealed oats without thinking. Almost immediately, she began to cough and gag, her eyes tearing as she struggled to clear her airway. A feeling of dread washed over her at the all too familiar sensation of her esophagus being stretched beyond its normal capacity. Resolving not to panic, she forced the bolus of oats down into her stomach with all of her might, her body jerking violently in the process.

The footsteps grew louder. Mildred swallowed compulsively to ensure that no breakfast remained in her gullet and pushed herself up from her seat so fast that her empty bowl clattered on the wooden table. She rushed anxiously to exit the dining hall, and nearly collided with her form mistress in the middle of the stone archway. She gave her teacher a once over, noting that the black satin gown that hugged her neck to ankle fitted her form more loosely than normal.

"Ms. Hubble, good morning," Ms. Hardbroom said stiffly, not even sparing her a glance. Mildred took no time to answer her, so overwhelmed in that moment that all she could do was continue to madly dash to her dormitory.

 **7:45pm**

Mildred bit her bottom lip. She had attempted several times to get an early start on the potions essay that was due after the holiday break, but Ms. Hardbrooms words kept sounding in her head.

 _"why does my attention, or lack thereof; matter so much to you?"_

" _you are angry that I did not make more of an effort to engage with you after discovering what I did"_

"Arrogant bitch," she muttered.

Mildred set the first draft of her essay aside and retrieved her drawing pad from underneath her bed. She knew she needed a distraction; as she was meta-cognitive enough to realize that replaying the toxic tape of, _'she doesn't care. Fuck her. She doesn't care'_ in her mind would only exacerbate her current depressed state. She pressed her pencil into the parchment and began to draw.

After about an hour of losing herself in creating, she straightened from her hunched position to fully admire her sketch. She had drawn a beautiful Victorian house, with a sloping roof and large porch. There were three windows on the top level, bordered on the outside with roses linked together by thorn-covered vines. Smoke billowed from the chimney on the left side of the slated roof, and a fence with triangular tips surrounded the house. There was no door.

Mildred pressed the eraser of her pencil against her lips, debating over how she would depict the weather in her drawing. She turned to look through her window for inspiration. Snowflakes danced across the tips of the dark trees in the distance against the gray and turquoise twilight sky.

A sharp rap on her dormitory door broke her out of her artistic trance. Mildred tore her eyes away from the snow-covered scenery and covered her drawing pad with her bed sheet.

"Who is it?" she asked, despite knowing that there was only one possible answer to her question.

"Ms….Mildred. It is Ms. Hardbroom. If you are decent, I would like to speak with you for a moment."

The unfamiliar tone of the familiar voice that came through the door jarred the young witch.

 _She's being so bloody polite. I wonder if it's a trick._

Mildred considered her situation. She was stranded in the middle of the forest with a grown woman who had resented her existence for as long as she could remember. She had verbally abused said grown woman a little over 24 hours ago; and now she was knocking on her door and requesting entry. Ms. Hardbroom was an incredibly powerful witch who was an invaluable member of the Cackles Academy staff and held a place in the headmistress' heart.

 _So the conclusion is…I'm fucked._

Mildred curled her toes and grimaced. She figured that if she didn't open the door, her form mistress would just blast it open and would bestow more pain upon her than if she were just initially compliant.

Bracing herself, Mildred said in a tight voice, "Come in."

The door creaked open, and Mildred laced her fingers around the back of her neck to show that she would not fight whatever was coming.

 _It always hurts more when you fight._

Ms. Hardbroom entered, her looming form casting a dark shadow across Mildred's bed. She held a small parcel in her left hand. After taking no more than two steps inside of her dormitory, she stopped.

 _I hate it when they play with me. Just fucking get to it._

Mildred tried hard to ignore the fact that she was shaking.

"Mildred, Amelia sent you a Christmas Present," the potions mistress said matter-of-factly, "I received it during the morning post. I was going to give it to you this morning, but you scampered from the dining hall so quickly I did not have a chance. I'd like to give it to you now."

Mildred deflated instantly, the sudden drop in her surging adrenaline hitting her like an oncoming fatigue train. She looked at the parcel in her teachers hand, and could see that it was sporting a green ribbon at the top.

 _It could still be a bomb, you know._

Mildred was glad she did not have enough energy to tell her mind's bitter voice to shut up. She looked up at Ms. Hardbroom's face. The older witch was rubbing her lips together and looking down at her feet, as if she was nervous.

"I…" Mildred said, her voice small, "Thank you very much. I…I'm sorry for running from you this morning." _And for calling you a lonely bitch yesterday._

Ms. Hardbroom cleared her throat. "You are forgiven, Mildred. Here." She handed the present to her student.

Mildred took the gift tentatively, and made a show of inspecting it so she could hide the guilt in her eyes.

"Thank you, Ms. Hardbroom. Really." She said quietly, resisting the urge to blurt out a useless apology.

"You are welcome, Mildred. Happy Christmas."

"To you too, Miss," Mildred whispered. She didn't look up until she heard the door to her dormitory room close.

Mildred collapsed backwards onto her bed, letting out a sigh of huge relief. She pondered her urge to apologize to Ms. Hardbroom. Mildred decided that she would eventually do it.

 _It would just seem so meaningless if I said I was sorry_ _ **right**_ _after she gave me a gift._

Mildred tucked her finger under one side of the green bow tied around her present, and pulled it. She then carefully unwrapped the small package, taking care not to tear the brown paper. She furrowed her brow when she pulled out a rather worn looking book.

The book cover read:

 _ **ROBERT FROST**_

 _The Road Not Taken_

Mildred opened the book. In neatly written print, an informal note was penned on the inside of the title page:

 **To: Mildred**

 **From: Ms. Cackles**

Curious, Mildred thumbed through several introductory pages until she found the first poem: _Desert Places._ She began to read.

 **10:31pm**

Constance fastened the top button on her maroon pajama shirt, and sat down on the edge of her queen sized bed. Her awkward interaction with Mildred left her in a dichotomous emotional state. On the one hand, she felt rattled that she had talked to another human being without having all of her guards up, and on the other, she felt at ease with herself by treating a traumatized child with care and respect.

She sighed softly, and looked over at the telephone sitting on her nightstand. Amelia would have her head if she knew that she was harboring such a _technological_ form of communication; but she had felt it was necessary if there was ever a crisis at the school that required immediate outside aid. Emergent post, at best, still took thirty minutes to reach it's intended recipient; and Constance would not have a student die because the headmistress couldn't accept that things were changing in the world around them.

Despite the fact that she was mentally berating Amelia, Constance found herself longing to speak to her long-time mentor, and incredibly embarrassed for it. She felt embarrassed that she wanted to speak to _anyone_ , really. She often prided herself on her ability to go through life independently; it transformed the source of her sadness into an accomplishment. That farce worked on most days, but she always had a hard time convincing herself of it on Christmas Eve.

 _Who would have a phone?_

Constance made a weak attempt to combat the desire to reach out; but she had an unbearable urge to talk to _somebody_ about _anything_ …she just wanted to know that there were others out there in the world. Too tired to analyze her emotions, she opened her nightstand drawer and fished around in it for Imogen Drill's business card; one that she had been given five years ago when the Gym Mistress had first begun her employment at Cackles and was looking to befriend members of the staff. Constance hated herself for hoping that the number was still current. She picked up the phone receiver, and used the dial to punch in the digits on her colleague's card.

One ring.

Two rings.

Three rin-

"Hello?" a groggy, mystified voice answered. Constance felt a mixture of relief and apprehension. It was definitely Imogen on the other line.

"Imogen, its Constance Hardbroom. From Cackles Academy," Constance wrapped a strand of her black hair around her forefinger.

" _Constance?"_ Imogen's voice raised several octaves with incredulity, "You're at _Cackles?_ I didn't think the Academy had a-"

"On the record, the Academy does not have a telephone," Constance interrupted, "I have one for personal use."

"Oh…." Imogen said, presumably in a state of shock.

"I…I…." Constance tightened the hair around her finger to such a degree that the tip began to lose blood supply, "I…apologize. For interrupting. And for yelling and insulting you out in the woods."

There was nothing but stunned silence for several seconds. "Constance…" Imogen said carefully, "is everything alright?"

Constance knew the Gym Mistress likely assumed that her apology could only be a result of having had suffered a traumatic head injury, and that was why she was concerned. Despite that, she had not connected with another person in such a long time that she perceived the question as more intimate, as if Imogen was asking if _she_ was alright as a _person_.

Constance damned the lump in her throat. "No one is in danger or injured," she said quietly.

"Then what is the matter?" Imogens voice had softened significantly.

"I…I don't quite know what to do. With myself. Or with Mildred, for that matter," Constance held her breath. _What the hell is happening to me?_ Vulnerability had _never_ been an option for her.

"Ah. I see. So I take it that this has been burdening you more than you have been letting on?" Imogen asked.

"Y-yes. Yes it has."

"Uhm…why…" Imogen yawned, "Sorry, sorry. Serge and I just had a long day, but I can talk for as long as you need. Why do you think it has been burdening you?"

Constance could tell by Imogen's awkward pauses that the woman on the other end of the line was navigating uncharted territory just as much as she was, and she took a small amount of comfort in that. "I…I've experienced things…such as Mildred has experienced."

"So you've experienced abuse?"

"I…I suppose that is the appropriate terminology," Constance said slowly, using all of her willpower to not end the call right there and then. When Imogen said nothing, she pushed herself to continue, "I also…I presume that I have been avoiding her…because I don't want to be reminded."

"That's understandable," Imogen replied. Constance heard her draw her breath in sharply. "Constance, I avoided certain kinds of situations and people for a very long time because _I_ didn't want to be reminded."

Constance felt an unexpected surge of warmth in her chest. "It means very much to me," she said in a choked voice, "that you would admit that to me."

"It means very much to me that you would call me for support, Constance," Imogen said softly.

"Yes…well.." Constance bounced her leg up and down anxiously, "those who deny they need support are lying to themselves. I suppose I am like Mildred in that way."

"I was too, Constance. It's nothing to be ashamed of. We had to protect ourselves somehow, but our modes of protection tend to become detrimental when we are not in danger anymore."

"You are remarkably more perceptive than I ever gave you credit for," Constance remarked. _Did I just compliment someone?_

"Mmm…more experienced than perceptive," Imogen said humbly, "but thank you, in any case."

"You're welcome," Constance nodded slowly even though she knew her colleague couldn't see it. "I…" she started, a bit stunned at the sharp reduction in her anxiety, "I don't know how to help Mildred. I don't even know if I _can._ "

Imogen sighed audibly. "Well, maybe you can and maybe you can't. Maybe you've lost your chance, and maybe she's waiting for the right moment to talk to you. My money would be on the latter, based on what I've observed. Regardless, Constance, the point is that you actually _want_ to help Mildred."

"I suppose…I suppose I never thought that would be considered as something that was positive," Constance said slowly, letting Imogen's words sink in.

"Of course it's a positive thing. Even if you think you're not worthy of fulfilling that role."

"I suppose I don't…at this moment in time," Constance admitted, "but I can attempt to believe that I am, for her sake."

There was a pregnant pause.

"That will mean the world to her, Constance," Imogen said, her voice thick with tears.

"I hope so," Constance responded, and meant it. "Thank you for speaking with me tonight, Imogen. It was very generous of you to give me your time…and to help me to feel that I…that I am not _completely_ alone. Even after all of the terrible things I said to you."

"Constance," Imogen said kindly, "I knew that you were likely throwing up defenses. Many people who've been hurt by others lash out, myself included. And besides, it's not like I wasn't insulting you in kind."

Constance felt so much lighter, she could hardly contain her emotions. "Thank you again. So very much." Despite the truth of her words, gratitude still felt strange rolling off of her tongue.

"Oh, you're always welcome Constance," Imogen replied, then chuckled, "besides, 'barmy midget' was a pretty good line."

Constance laughed, the release felt so freeing, and it was nice to have humor take the edge off the intensity of the conversation. "So was 'iron-fisted trollop'. A bit factually incorrect, as I have not worn _anything_ with a plunging neckline in almost a decade."

Imogen snorted. "I'm definitely not shocked by that."

"Imogen, I…" Constance stopped to yawn, "I hope you have a wonderful holiday."

"I will, and I will let you get some rest now," Imogen said, yawning as well. Apparently they were _still_ contagious through the phone. "And Constance?"

"Yes?" the potions mistress asked.

"Happy Christmas."

Constance smiled.

* * *

 **Dec 25** **th** **, 1999**

 **07:06am**

"Mildred! _Mildred!_ " Enid's squealing voice woke Mildred from her slumber. She opened her eyes slowly, and found the excited faces of her two best friends staring down at her, beaming. She could not help but beam in return, and instantly wrapped her arms around them both.

"Happy Christmas, Mildred!" Maud said lovingly into her shoulder.

"Thank you both," Mildred grinned, her eyes sparkling.

Enid pulled back and stood up, putting her hands on her hips. "You're welcome. Now get dressed, and quickly!"

"Give me a _moment,_ Enid," Mildred said dramatically, still grinning from ear to ear.

Maud rose from her bending position. "We are having a snowball fight, Mildred Hubble," she said, tapping her foot.

"Are we, now?" Mildred said, excitement lighting up her eyes.

"Why the delay? Are you scared to _lose?_ " Enid taunted her.

"You're the ones who should be scared," Mildred said mischievously, "Now give me some privacy. I'll be out in two minutes to annihilate you _both!_ "

 **02:12pm**

Constance Hardbroom watched her three young pupils through the window in the teachers lounge. The girls had been frolicking about in the snow for _hours_ , only stopping twice for meals. Mildred looked genuinely enthusiastic to be spending the Christmas holiday with her friends, but Constance couldn't help but notice the daunting dark purple semi-circles beneath both of her eyes.

 _At least she's eating._

Constance reached around her neck and began to massage the tense muscle over her right shoulder blade. _Managing_ children was such a nuisance, but _caring_ for children was an entirely different monster. She had wanted to have children back in her early twenties, as did all of her female peers, but the desire had faded following her experiences at Weirdsister. She did not feel that it was morally right to willfully bring a child into a world that she knew was cruel for the simple selfish purpose of passing on her genetics.

Constance turned hawk-like eyes back down to the castle gardens, and tsked disapprovingly as Enid Nightshade pelted a snowball right at Maud Moonshine's face, knocking off her glasses. The latter girl roared with laughter and tackled her assailant, forcing a lump of snow down the front of Ms. Nightshade's cloak.

Constance noted that her body's physical rigidity intensified as the enjoyment of the children she was watching heightened.

 _Am I_ _ **jealous**_ _of them? Do I actually wish I had been able to play carelessly as a child, as they do? I suppose I would have been a much happier tot if my father hadn't insisted that I stay inside and study all of the bloody time._

Constance cringed, shaking off the childish resentment she had begun to feel towards her father. The fleeting feeling was a concern to her for only a moment, and then it slipped away. She could deal with loneliness and its resultant pain because it was familiar. Trying to find happiness? It sounded like such a weak and ridiculous goal to Constance, but she couldn't deny that for the rest of her life, she would always carry a lingering want to feel content.

 **6:13pm**

Mildred walked arm-in-arm with Enid and Maud to the castle courtyard, where their parents were waiting to collect them. Ms. Hardbroom followed close behind them, as Enid's mother and Maud's mother and father had wanted to see that an adult chaperone had been present with them in the castle.

"Daddy!" Maud said happily, running into her father's arms and burying her face in his tweed jacket. He cupped the back of her head lovingly for a moment, and pulled back. "Did you have a good Christmas, love?" Maud nodded emphatically. She then turned to her mother and embraced her as well.

Enid walked up to her mother, a tired-looking woman with kind eyes. Mrs. Nightshade held her daughter against her and kissed her forehead.

From behind Mildred, Ms. Hardbroom nodded at the three adults.

"Mildred, come over here!" Maud said excitedly. Mildred walked up to Maud and her parents and stuck her hand out.

"Mildred Hubble, nice to meet you," Mr. Moonshine said warmly, grasping her hand firmly in his. "I've heard quite a bit about you. Thank you for being such a good friend to my daughter."

"Yes, thank you dear!" Mrs. Moonshine said, her broad grin emphasizing the redness of her plump cheeks. She gave Mildred a brief hug.

"It's nice to meet you both as well," she said, nodding at both of them in a way that she hoped showed respect.

Enid walked over to the group, her mother in tow. "Mildred," Mrs. Nightshade said, and shook her hand. She brought Mildred in and kissed her cheek. "It's so good to finally meet you."

Mildred made awkward small talk with Maud, Enid, and their parents for about ten minutes or so. Then, as quickly as Christmas day had passed, they all were gone and she was left feeling unbearably empty once again.

 **11:04pm**

Mildred nuzzled her face against the top of the pillow she had clutched to her chest. She felt like such a child, but the interaction between her two best friends and their parents had left her yearning for a hug. She squeezed her pillow tightly.

 _You're such an infant. You're pathetic. How could you want something that only ends up hurting you?_

Mildred shuddered. She felt dirty, her mind disgusted with the cravings of her heart. She released the pillow and turned away from it, her movement pushing it onto the floor. The humiliation she felt did not dissipate once she had ceased her mock-cuddling. She tensed her muscles.

 _You're incompetent. You're worthless. You're dirty. You're an embarrassment._

"FUCmmmhhff" Mildred cursed into her fist, biting down on the skin stretched over her knuckles until she drew blood.

 _How dare you want what they have? You know you'll never get it. How long do you think you can go constantly wanting a cuddle? You'll be a dried up old woman, pissing all over herself in a nursing home still wanting this same shit._

Mildred felt her skin crawl with embarrassment. She opened her nightstand drawer and retrieved her box of razors. She dug her heels into the bottom of the mattress, and pushed herself up until her lower back rested against the headboard. She pulled up the left sleeve of her white nightgown, baring her mutilated forearm.

Mildred squinted at her disfigured skin, trying to find an area that was free of scars. The fibrous tissue was always harder to cut through and didn't yield as much pain due to the deadened nerve endings. She pushed the corner of the used razor she was holding against an unmarred portion of flesh just below her left elbow.

Mildred took a deep breath, and vigorously dragged the blade across her arm, secretly hoping she would be able to nick the light blue veins that were visible through her luminescent skin. Warm liquid dribbled down to her fingertips after she made several cuts. She let her head fall back as the rapture of the external ache and the constellation of painful throbs dissolved all of her shame.

 **11:18pm**

Constance awoke instantly to a magical alert; signaling to her that Mildred was in physical danger. She wasted no time and instantly materialized into her young pupil's dormitory to find Mildred purposefully dragging a small silver blade across her blood drenched arm.

* * *

 _she pictures the broken glass, she pictures the steam._

 _she pictures a soul;_

 _with no leak at the seam._

 _dreaming of mercy st._

 _wear your inside out._

 _dreaming of mercy;_

 _in your daddy's arms again._

* * *

Authors Note: I take no ownership of the creative property of Jill Murphy or Peter Gabriel.


	9. Your Disease

_Chapter Nine: Your Disease_

 **CAUTION: CONTAINS** **GRAPHIC** **DESCRIPTIONS OF CHILD ABUSE. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.**

 **Dec. 25** **th** **, 1999**

 **11:19pm**

Constance stared in horror at the sight of Mildred methodically running a razorblade across the inside of her left forearm. Once she was no longer pressing the blade into her skin, Constance materialized from her invisible state, and shrieked, "Mildred Hubble! What the _hell_ are you doing to yourself?" The girl jumped at her form mistress' sudden appearance, and Constance promptly spelled the small razor to fly out of Mildred's hand and land with a light clatter in the corner of the dormitory room.

Instinctively, Mildred scrambled backwards onto her bed until her back was against the wall. Constance advanced towards Mildred's bed, her eyes fixed on the younger witches' bleeding arm. When she was close enough to her pupil, Constance took charge. In one swift movement, she seized her pupils left wrist in an ironclad grip and rested her weight on Mildred's knees so the girl couldn't kick her.

Immediately, Constance began to inspect the open wounds on Mildred's arm for excessive hemorrhaging. A wave of relief washed over her when she saw that all the lacerations were superficial; the girl had not managed to hit an artery.

"LET ME GO!" Mildred screamed, trying her hardest to wrench away from her teachers hold. The older woman did not yield; she simply tightened her grasp on her wrist.

It was only then that Constance noted the some twenty-odd partially healed cuts amidst the fresh ones, and that was just on Mildred's forearm. Her eyes surveyed the arm up to her left shoulder, which was covered with similar wounds, all in different stages of healing.

 _She must be in so much pain._

Constance's chest seized painfully. " _This is your solution?"_ she demanded, her voice cracking.

Mildred froze.

Constance's voice, her _tearful_ voice, sounded just like her mothers.

And Constance was holding her down,

just like her mother had held her down,

 _that day on the bathroom floor…_

" _This is_ _ **your**_ _fault!" Mrs. Hubble screamed through her sobs, "He is supposed to fantasize_ _about his_ _ **wife**_ _, not his_ _ **child**_ _!" She grabbed a fistful of Mildred's wet hair and submerged her daughter's head beneath the bathwater for the third time._

 _Mrs. Hubble felt the body beneath her begin to slacken, about to give in to drowning. She pulled her daughter up for air, and Mildred spluttered and coughed up bathwater violently._

 _The young girl began to cry in terror. Mrs. Hubble pulled her into a warm embrace and began to rub her back. As her daughter wept into her chest, she whispered tearfully "I had to, darling, I had to". She pressed a kiss to the top of Mildred's head._

"GET OFF OF ME!" Mildred roared, and a powerful burst of protective magic sent Constance flying backwards across the dormitory room. Due to extensive dueling experience, the older witch was able to land on her feet instead of colliding painfully with the wall.

Constance, dazed but unharmed, took a moment to carefully analyze the situation. Mildred was cowering on her bed; drenched in sweat and trembling, her petrified eyes flitting back and forth as if she was a caged animal awaiting slaughter.

"Mildred," Constance said carefully, and put her hands up in a gesture of surrender, "I am not going to harm you. You are safe."

Mildred put her hands over her ears and curled up into a ball. She started to hyperventilate.

 _The edge of the knife glowed white after being lifted from the flame._

" _This is a lesson you must learn. All that show you love will turn it against you, then use it to_ _ **harm**_ _you. I'm doing you a favor, I'm showing you how it's done."_

 _Mildred screamed as the searing blade sliced through the sensitive flesh on the back of her thigh._

Constance was at a loss. Mildred rocked back and forth, head buried in her knees, whimpering unintelligibly.

It was unlike anything Constance had ever seen, and she felt so immensely disturbed that for a brief moment, she considered leaving. _That would be an unimaginably cruel thing to do, Constance Hardbroom. Even for you._ Constance relented to the small voice inside of her head, and stayed where she was.

Constance focused her attentions on the sounds that emanated from the young witch on the bed, and was finally able to audibly decipher Mildred's muffled whimpers.

"Notsafe…noteversafe…sayyoursafe…dotheworst…"

" _What's_ the worst, Mildred?" Constance asked carefully. Mildred shook her head vigorously, and lifted her face from her kneecaps to take in several gulps of air. She looked past her bedframe and directly through her form mistress as if she wasn't there. The older witch shivered.

Mildred turned her head to fix her gaze on the window to the right of her bed, and rested her left cheek on her kneecaps.

 _Does she know where she is? Is she present? Is she dissociating?_ Constance's anxious loop of thoughts did precious little to quell her internal panic.

After a long stretch of silence, Constance spoke. "Mildred, I am going to stand up now." She rose from her position against the wall. The cramped muscles in her legs throbbed gratefully as blood flow returned to them.

The girl remained silent.

"I am going to walk towards your bed," Constance said slowly, her hands still raised in the 'I'm-not-a-threat' gesture despite the fact that Mildred wasn't even looking in her direction. The older witch kept her back to the wall as she approached her pupil, observing for any signs of a reaction. She saw none.

Once she was a mere foot away from the side of the bed, Constance continued, "I am not going to touch you. I am going to stand right here."

The muscles in Mildred's back visibly tensed and she tightened her grip around her knees. She had come to, insofar as that she knew where she was, who she was with, and what her teacher had discovered.

That flashback had been the worst Mildred had ever had in the presence of another human being, and the physiological effects of it had not subsided with the hallucinations. She could still feel the cold water in her lungs. She could still feel her mothers vice grip on the back of her neck.

"I…" her teacher's voice faltered briefly, "I do not know what the right thing to do is, but I know that the wrong thing to do is to leave you here alone."

Mildred sniffled, and focused on the incandescent ring of light surrounding the glowing moon visible through the glass windowpane. "But you want to," she said hoarsely, "and it's okay."

"It most certainly is _not_ ," was the older woman's response, and Mildred could practically _feel_ the amount of effort her teacher had to expend to control her tone, "and I will _not_ leave."

"I threw you across the room," Mildred croaked, "That removes any moral obligation to stay."

There was a pause. Mildred heard a sharp intake of breath. "Mildred, I don't _want_ to leave."

"Liar," Mildred challenged, but the bitterness in her tone had no edge to it.

"Mildred."

The way her professor spoke her name was so unbearably _sad_ ; and that alone threatened to break Mildred's resolve. _If I can make the Witch of Endor feel pity, I must really be pathetic._

"May I place my hand on your shoulder?"

 _Jesus._

Mildred was unprepared for the realization that she had been waiting for an offer like that from this particular woman for a very long time. She nodded her head before she could stop herself.

She felt the warmth of Constance's hand on her shoulder. It was such a simple gesture; but to Mildred it was _everything_. The impact of that self-truth hit Mildred hard. She was hopeless against her desire for maternal comfort, a desire that had been used against her so many times.

" _All I have to do is be nice to you for a day, and you'll be my good little Millie again."_

"I _can't_ want this…." Mildred whispered, hating that she leaned into the hand on her back, and hating that she could not force herself to pull away. "I want to _not_ want this…"

"To not want _what_ , Mildred?" Constance asked, genuinely confused. She tentatively placed her other hand on Mildred's left shoulder, and began to trace gentle circles onto the girls skin with her thumb. Constance's drive to protect the child before her was so paramount to anything else at that moment that she almost didn't recognize herself.

"For…so _gentle_ …so _tender_ …" it was evident that Mildred was willing herself not to weep.

Constance responded by rubbing the girls back. That action appeared to elicit more sorrow than it soothed.

"I _can't_ …" Mildred whimpered, and Constance felt all of the muscles in her back go rigid. Up until that point, she had been physically relaxing into the touch.

"Mildred, I am not going to harm you. _Ever_. I just want to soothe you, nothing more." Constance hoped she didn't sound as desperate as she felt. _Why is she shaking as if I am standing over her with a belt in hand?_

"She…she…." Mildred felt suffocated by her own intensity. She was lucid, she knew she wasn't back in that bathroom, but with the level of powerlessness she felt, it was as if she was.

The hand on her back stopped moving, but maintained contact. An anchor.

"She…she…always…. _held_ me…called me _darling_ …said I was _safe_ …and _rocked_ me…." Mildred choked out, her voice so small she sounded like a child. "Before…..after….. _during_ …"

Both hands abruptly left Mildred's back.

"And I….I _always_ ….I _wanted_ it….no matter-" the young witch hicupped, "what she did."

Mildred shivered. The spot on her back where Constance's hand had been felt cold. She wanted the hand back, and that want was too much for her. A wave of nausea hit her hard and she shook violently. She propelled herself forward onto her hands and knees, dry heaving over the foot of her bed.

Constance was at her side in an instant, and felt increasing panic as the girl's forceful retching intensified.

Without warning, a brilliant purple light filled the dormitory room and knocked Constance onto her back.

After she regained her balance, she found Mildred hunched over the end of her bed in the same position as before, staring at the floor with an openly perplexed expression on her face. She peered over the edge of the mattress, and looked down curiously at the small, mandarin-sized ball of purple glowing light sitting atop the carpet.

" _Memorias Expulsor_ " Constance said incredulously.

"What?" Mildred asked.

"It's the expulsion of a memory that is causing great distress," Constance explained, "it is a very _advanced_ form of self-protective magic. Wizards who fought in a great number of battles were said to have used it in ancient times in order to relax during the times they were not in combat. It was never a practice that lasted."

"Why?" Mildred furrowed her brows.

"Because, in order for the memory to be returned, the one who expels it must view it with another person. And all memories must be returned eventually, or the mind will fracture into madness. Most would rather keep their painful memories to themselves then have others view them. The only times this spell is _ever_ used at present are times when the Wizarding Magistrate deems it necessary to validate the truth of a claim. It is always a last resort. Mildred…" Constance's voice trailed off, she was truly dumbfounded, "most of the wizards, even the ancient ones, who can elicit a memory from themselves or others using that spell train for _years._ You performed it without any knowledge that the spell existed."

 _That explains why I stopped panicking and don't feel like throwing up everywhere._ Mildred anxiously looked down at the tiny glowing ball. _Damn superpowers._

"What do I do with it now?" she asked wearily.

"Honestly, Mildred," Constance said, and Mildred detected a hint of embarrassment in her voice, "I don't know. Dr. Grisham would likely have some idea."

 _I'll put it in the dresser drawer for now_ Mildred thought. She didn't want to look at the pulsating ball full of her frightening secrets. She didn't know which memory it was, but it likely was one of the most putrid in her mental repertoire.

She reached for it, the urge to get it out of sight so great she didn't hear her Professor warning her, "No Mildred, you cant touch-"

But it was too late. Another blinding flash of purple light filled the room, and Mildred soon found herself standing in a very familiar bathroom, with Ms. Hardbroom at her side. Mildred tried to cry out to her teacher to look away, but no sounds escaped her mouth despite her best efforts. She was locked in this memory, and there was no way to escape.

Constance's eyes swept the room. She saw the naked body of her student laid across the lap of a raven-haired woman, who appeared to be weeping. She watched the scene before her unfold in horror.

 _Mrs. Hubble rubbed her fingers gently over the back of her thighs, stroking the letters she had branded into her daughters skin. "It was the only way I could make the both of you learn…" she whispered, her voice thick with emotion._

 _Mildred started violently when she felt her mother's fingertips slide up her inner thigh. Mrs. Hubble locked Mildred's upper body into place by securing her grip around her back. She then lifted her leg to lay it across the back of Mildred's knees, holding her legs open._

" _You know I don't want to do this," she sobbed into Mildred's ear as she slid a finger inside of her._

 _Mildred bawled in the embrace that held her captive, her cries intensifying every time she felt her body cradled closer or the pressure of lips against her forehead._

 _Mrs. Hubble continued her ministrations, "That's it, darling. You're safe with me, not with him. That's why it feels so much better."_

 _The gentle fingers that rubbed her back moved in unison with the fingers that rubbed her bleeding inner walls raw. Dry, terrified sobs tore through Mildred's throat. She couldn't stop her body from reacting favorably to either of her mother's hands._

* * *

 **Dec. 26** **th** **, 1999**

 **12:08am**

The purple light faded slowly as Constance and Mildred found themselves back in the dormitory in the same positions as before; Mildred crouched on the end of her bed and Constance standing in the middle of the room.

Constance made an attempt to suppress her nausea, but it failed miserably. She bent over and vomited the meager contents of her stomach onto the floor. When the spasms in her esophagus subsided, she stood slowly and made the pungent mess disappear with a flick of her wrist. She looked over at Mildred, sitting still as a statue, knees drawn up to her chest once again. She saw remnants of the memory she had just witnessed flash across the young girl's frightened eyes.

Constance drew her breath in sharply. Her eyes stung. She felt every nerve in her body spark to life with fury.

 _That_ _ **monster.**_ _That_ _ **abominable**_ _fucking excuse for a human being._ Constance turned away from Mildred. She could not trust herself to speak, lest the girl sense her rage and blame herself for yet another thing for which she was not responsible.

"I think you should leave," Mildred rasped from behind her.

"I'm not…." Constance stopped, an unexpected ache seizing her chest.

 _Oh, bare it all Constance. She has bared almost_ _ **everything**_ _to you._

"I'm _not_ leaving you, Mildred," Constance relented, letting out an audible sob as a tear spilled freely down her cheek.

"GET OUT OF HERE!" Mildred bellowed, in clear disbelief. She was too overcome with terror to feel ashamed of the tears welling in her eyes. She couldn't handle this display of her teachers' uncharacteristic vulnerability, being stuck in the same room with crying adults had only ever led to heinous things in Mildred's past. She needed the older woman to _leave_.

Constance turned towards her, thin shoulders shaking. "I am not weeping because…" her diaphragm jerked as another sob fought its way out, "because I want to manipulate you. Or because you've hurt me in some way. Mildred…I am weeping because what she did to you was abhorrent; and I care about you and it pained me so _much_ …" Constance stopped talking and brought a clenched fist up to her mouth to muffle her whimpers.

"NO IT DIDN'T! LIAR! BITCH! WHORE! SLAG!" Mildred screamed each insult with increasing desperation.

"No matter what you say," Constance said softly, "I will never hurt you. I will never burn you. I will never hit you. I will never cut you. I will never-"

"SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP!" Mildred had lost all control of herself, she was in full fight-or-flight mode, "NOW THAT YOU _**KNOW**_ YOU CAN HURT ME AS MUCH AS YOU WANT! YOU CAN BLACKMAIL ME INTO NOT TELLING ANYONE!"

"Oh, Mildred," Constance said miserably, "what has she _done_ to you?"

"STOP! STOP! STOP!" Mildred screeched until her voice was hoarse, "STOP TALKING AND JUST LEAVE ME BE. I DON'T BLOODY NEED YOU, I DON'T BLOODY NEED _ANYONE_! I NEVER HAVE!"

Constance waited until Mildred was done to say, in a quiet, but very determined voice, "Be that as it may, I'm not going anywhere."

Mildred was too exhausted to keep fighting.

 _She doesn't put up with other peoples' emotions…she's never been able to…why would she stay here? She doesn't switch moods on a dime, she's maddeningly honest, and she always does the right thing, in the end._

Mildred cautiously looked up at her form mistress, perplexed. The older woman's complexion was waxy, dried tear-tracks covered both her cheeks, and the tenderness and despair that shone in her eyes hit Mildred right in the gut. "I…" Mildred whispered, "I want to trust you. But I feel like it's dangerous. I feel like I can't. I'm sorry I called you names."

"You never have to be sorry, not to me." Constance took a small step towards her bedside. Mildred nodded her head, then hung it.

"Mildred, will you allow me to clean your arm?" Constance asked.

Mildred nodded.

Constance muttered a silent incantation and transmogrified Mildred's desk lamp into a bowl of warm water and a soft white cloth.

"May I sit on your bed?"

Another nod.

Constance sat on the edge of Mildred's mattress, and took her pupil's left wrist, stretching her arm to bare the old and new wounds. She used the warm cloth to remove the dried blood gently, taking care to avoid tearing the scabs off of the many partially healed cuts littered across the young witch's inner forearm. Mildred tensed up intermittently, in response to the care rather than the pain. When Constance was finished, she set the bowl and washcloth aside and stood.

"Are you leaving?" Mildred asked. Constance looked down into pleading brown eyes that were as big as saucers. _She looks so_ **_young._**

"Not tonight, Mildred," Constance said, "I've got you."

That statement hit the young witch hard. She bowed her head. In a quivering voice, she said, "could you…could you.."

This time, Constance knew what she was asking. "Yes."

Mildred slid down on her bed until her head rested against her pillow. Constance placed her hand on the side of the mattress, leveraging herself onto it until she was next to Mildred in a sitting position with her back against the headboard. Mildred scooted backwards to give her room.

Constance looked down at her, and curled her arm around Mildred, pulling her towards her until the girl's head rested on her lap.

She combed her fingers through Mildred's hair. Though her young charge did not make a noise, Constance could tell that she was weeping when she felt the tears soak through her dress and onto her thighs.

"I've got you, dear" she said softly, continuing to soothe her, "I've got you."

* * *

 _Seeping through the cracks_

 _I'm the poison in your bones_

 _My love is your disease_

 _I won't let it set you free…._

 _Until I break you_

* * *

Authors Note: I take no ownership of the creative property of Jill Murphy or of the band Digital Daggers. Sorry this chapter is so disturbing. E-gads.


	10. Untouchable, Pt 1

_Chapter 10: Untouchable_

 _PART ONE_

 **Dec. 26** **th** **, 1999**

 **10:15am**

Mildred felt the morning sunlight brush her closed eyelids; an alarm in the sky that never failed to wake her. She made to shift beneath the bedcovers, and immediately sensed that something was different. Her neck was craned at an awkward angle, and her cheek was scrunched up against black satin.

 _Ms. Hardbroom._

The pit of Mildred's stomach sunk. The litany of memories from the previous night ran in rapid succession through her mind like a round off of a machine gun. She felt panicked. Naked. Suffocated by her involuntary exposition.

The fingers resting against her scalp moved as the woman in her bed began to stir.

"Mmldred?" the groggy voice from above sounded alien.

Mildred forced herself to freeze. _Maybe if I don't move, she'll forget that I'm here._

"Mildred," Ms. Hardbrooms voice came back to itself; commanding, serious.

The young witch let out a breath she'd been holding. "Morning, Miss."

Silence. Deliberation.

Mildred felt a thumb gently brush a strand of hair from her forehead. It nearly undid her.

"Mildred, it is quite alright."

She had never heard her potions mistress sound so uncertain. She diverted all of her energy to center her focus on the rays of orange light that tiger-striped the floor.

"I know it is, Miss," Mildred whispered. Tentative fingers stroked her hair once more.

Mildred felt too raw to cry, and too wasted to fight. She closed her eyes and firmly pressed her cheek back up against black satin, surrendering her pride.

When Mildred nuzzled her thigh, Constance felt an unanticipated surge of adoration and… _responsibility?_ Sure, she was a responsible person, as far as her career, her lab stock, and her self-restraint. But she'd never felt responsible for another being, and she'd certainly never felt _honored_ to have a responsibility. She stared down at the back of Mildred's head in wonder…in _gratitude_ , even.

Constance bent her head to the side, feeling her neck crack in several different areas. She made sure to restrict her movement to her upper torso, such that the girl cradled in her lap could not sense the shifting. She nervously combed her fingers through Mildred's messy black locks. The girl physically relaxed, which gave Constance the confidence to continue caressing her. Within minutes, both witches had fallen back asleep.

 **11:45pm**

Mildred sat up, massaging blood flow back into the muscles of her left shoulder. She looked back at her potions mistress, who was snoring softly; the back of her head propped up by the oak headboard. She crept across her room to her closet, and gathered up her clothing for the day. She left her room, leaving the door cracked open slightly, and dressed herself as quickly as she was able.

After she clothed herself, Mildred peeked into her dormitory, and was relieved to find Constance still slumbering. She made her way down the stone staircase, her grumbling stomach demanding she satiate herself with lunch immediately.

 **12:08pm**

"Mildred." The girl looked up from her plate, her mouth stuffed full of grits, gravy dribbling down her chin.

Constance tried to sneer, she really did, but she couldn't help but find her pupils abominable table manners rather…endearing. She smiled before she could stop herself.

Mildred clumsily wiped her chin clean with the already-soiled napkin in her lap. She then proceeded, rather comically, to chew and swallow her food as rapidly as possible.

"For Gods Sake, girl," Constance said, in a tone that was more amused than chastising, "I can wait for you to finish your lunch. My authority does not _always_ demand immediate recognition."

Mildred raised an eyebrow sardonically.

"You are lucky that you are presently unable to say what you are likely thinking," Constance snapped, hands on her hips. Try as she might to appear offended, she really wasn't.

Mildred swallowed the last bit of her grits. "Did you need something, Miss?" she asked candidly.

Constance sat down next to Mildred and slouched her position slightly such that she was physically level with her. She interpreted the fact that her pupil had not tensed or pulled away from her as a good sign.

"Well, Mildred. I need to summon Dr. Grisham. He needs to know that you have been harming yourself," she forced herself to sustain eye contact afterwards, hoping it would lessen resistance.

Mildred felt incapable of looking away, as if her form mistress had spelled their eyes to be drawn to each other. "He _has_ to know?" she implored, unconsciously rubbing her left forearm.

"Yes, Mildred," Constance nodded, "the Magistrate would find me _grossly_ negligent if I did not inform him."

"Ugh," the young witch scrunched up her nose, "I wish the law didn't see me as such a _child_." The irony of punctuating that statement with a dramatic eye roll was lost on Mildred.

"I would not violate your privacy if it was not for your own protection," Constance insisted. She was deeply unsettled that she was actually _afraid_ that Mildred might be upset with her.

"He's not going to lock me away, is he?" Mildred demanded angrily.

Constance could tell fear drove the younger witches' sudden hostility; so she resisted the temptation to pull the 'I am the adult and you will not question me' card. "No one is locking anyone away, Mildred," Constance said gently, and reached for her pupils hand.

Mildred pulled her hand away, and glared daggers at her, her cheeks blustering red. " _You don't know that."_

Constance sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. She fixed the raging girl before her with as open a look as she could manage. "I _do_ know that Mildred," she vowed, "because I will _never_ let _anyone_ lock you away."

Mildred's shoulders dropped slightly, and her scowl turned to a sulk. She looked down at her half-eaten bowl of grits. "If you say so," she muttered. Although she sounded glum, Constance detected a small amount of hope in the girl's voice. And that was enough for her.

 **1:34pm**

"Ms. Hardbroom, it is a delight to see you again," Dr. Grisham took both of Constance's hands in his, and shook them with a tad more enthusiasm than necessary.

Constance withdrew herself from the physician's sweaty grasp, irritated that she did not cover up her grimace quickly enough. He was visibly embarrassed with himself.

"Dr. Grisham," Constance said, her back stiff. She tried to not make a show of wiping her palms dry on her dress.

Unfortunately, he took notice.

"I apologize for that; Ms. Hardbroom. I have had my hands stuffed in my coat pockets quite a bit to combat the cold," Dr. Grisham said hastily. _You dolt; explaining yourself to her, with a lie no less! You hardly have to bear the frigid weather when you can materialize yourself anywhere you please._

"That's quite alright, Doctor," Constance replied, trying to keep the amusement out of her voice, "let me take you to Mildred."

The affectionate gleam in the physician's eyes dimmed at the mention of his patient. "Ah, yes. She is not gravely injured, is she?"

"It depends on your definition of grave," Constance said quietly, and examined her fingernails, "but she is not on the brink of any sort of _physical_ demise."

Dr. Grisham understood the implications behind her words. His mouth went dry.

"Come," Constance broke the tortuous silence, "follow me to the dining hall." She turned to make her way down the castle corridor.

The physician followed her wordlessly, struggling to keep up with her large strides.

 **01:48pm**

Mildred held out her bare, maimed arm to Dr. Grisham, allowing him to inspect it. She cringed at how gently he traced the scars; and forced herself to look away from him and stare at the flickering flames of the torches that were mounted on the walls of the dining hall. She appreciated his silence; she knew herself well enough to know that the second she heard a sad sigh or 'tsk' she would likely throw up the hefty lunch she had just eaten all over the floor. Concern made her angry, but pity made her _sick_.

Per Mildred's request, Ms. Hardbroom had left the dining hall and allowed her to independently reveal her self-destructive habit to Dr. Grisham. The young witch would never openly admit it, but she actually appreciated the opportunity to be able to divulge the sensitive information herself, despite knowing that she had only been given the _illusion_ of a choice.

 _Why are you feeling_ _ **grateful**_ _to the bitch who ratted you out?_ Her bitter inner voice scolded her. Mildred did not have an adequate mental reply, but for the first time in a long while, she didn't feel the need to justify herself to the demons within.

"All done, Mildred," Dr. Grisham's deep voice broke Mildred out of her thoughts. The physician gently released her wrist, and she pulled her arm back swiftly, cradling it against her abdomen. She tore her gaze away from the torches and faced him determinedly.

"Mildred, I have to take you to an Emergency Department," Dr. Grisham said carefully, bracing himself against what had the potential to be a violent reaction.

"Why?" Mildred spat, "I told you _everything_. Now you're just going to lock me up?"

Dr. Grisham held his hands up. "No one's talking about locking you up, Mildred. By law, however, you must be evaluated by a licensed Mind Healer to determine if you are an immediate danger to yourself. If the Mind Healer believes you are a danger to yourself, you may be placed on a 72-hour hold. But given your disposition and honesty, I doubt that will be the decision that is made."

Mildred crossed her arms across her chest. "What if I refuse to go?"

"To be frank, you will be forced. What you have disclosed to me legally obligates me to submit you to an evaluation as soon as possible. I do not want to call in reinforcements, but I can," Dr. Grisham made sure to communicate in a purely informative, non-authoritative way. He knew that it would be incredibly detrimental if Mildred had interpreted what he had just said as _purely_ a threat; she needed to know that not all adults exerted control over her to simply dole out abuse.

 _But how could she know that? How could she recognize a form of discipline that is meant to protect; and not to punish?_

He watched her mouth contort into a scowl. "You know," Mildred said acidly, "I would say that you can't make me. But it is obvious that you can. Let's just get this the fuck _over_ with." Her resentful eyes bored into him in a way that was almost intimidating.

 **02:11pm**

Mildred pouted, growing increasingly dispirited with her situation. She was sandwiched between Ms. Hardbroom and Dr. Grisham on an uncomfortable plastic chair in the waiting room of the Emergency Department at St. Aumars Wizarding Hospital. She felt nothing but rage…rage and helplessness. She had been _coerced_ into going to the hospital. She was trapped by adults, and that had never resulted in anything pleasant in her past.

 _I could transmogrify myself into a mouse, and scurry away._

 _And never return to school? Be on the run forever? You'll end up on the streets. And if a search party catches you, you'll be locked up for_ _ **much**_ _longer than 72 hours._

Mildred wanted to scream. There was no alternative, there was no escaping the upcoming meeting with the Mind Healer. It gave her goosebumps and accompanying nausea; the thought of being _analyzed._ Of being asked why she found relief by hacking herself to pieces. She couldn't adequately answer that _why_ to herself; let alone another person.

 _And what if my answer isn't good enough? I'm so fucking screwed._

"Mildred Hubble?" a young, blonde department nurse with a kind smile addressed her.

"That's me," she sniped, making no attempt to look up through her black fringe at the young woman.

"The Mind Healer is ready to see you now," the nurse said, unperturbed by her defiance, "I will walk you to her office."

Mildred rose from her sitting position.

"Your mother and father can go to lunch in the cafeteria," The nurse nodded her head at Dr. Grisham and Ms. Hardbroom, "You can come see her in about an hour, whether or not she is released to you."

The two adults paled considerably. "We're not-" Dr. Grisham began, then decided the misunderstanding did not warrant immediate refutation, "…hungry. But thank you. We will wait."

Constance shook her head; annoyed by his omission but too weary to expose it.

"Right, then," the nurse said, a sad look in her eyes. She assumed that the two adults before her looked so weary because they had just discovered their child had been harming herself.

"Come with me, Mildred," the nurse reached out to take the young witches' elbow.

Mildred recoiled immediately. "I'm coming, but you're _not_ touching me."

 **02:23pm**

Mildred studied the portrait that was hung on the far wall of the Mind Healer's office. It was an oil painting of a gorgeous mountain range; the lower passes of each majestic rock formation cloaked by greenery, snaking up to grey crevices and snow-covered peaks that were kissed by the light oranges and pinks of a sunset. **_Wasatch Front, January 1994_** **–** was painted in small letters in the bottom hand corner of the canvas.

The office door swung open, and a short, plump brunette woman entered, a clipboard in her hand.

Mildred straightened her shoulders, and pressed herself into the corner of the plush couch she was sitting on.

"Miss Hubble," the woman said in a heavy French accent, looking up at her through her square-framed glasses, "my name is Debora Molyneux. I am zee Mind Healer who 'vill be speaking with you today."

Mrs. Molyneux bustled over to the couch, and stuck her hand out tentatively.

Mildred looked at the hand suspiciously; but shook it nevertheless.

The Mind Healer flashed a sideways smile. "No vay to make zis interaction less awkward, is there?"

"I suppose," Mildred said solemnly, trying like hell to figure out how she should present herself.

"Now," Mrs. Molyneux said pragmatically, settling herself onto a leather armchair opposite the couch, "I understand zat you are 'ere for self harm?"

She placed the clipboard she had been holding face down on the floor. Mildred felt a small amount of relief at that; she knew that she would be barely able to contain her hostility if the woman across from her was intent on scribbling _notes_ about her the entire session.

"Yes," Mildred said, and began to rub her right thigh anxiously.

"Haz zee self-harm started recently?" the Mind Healer implored.

"No," she said simply, and held her breath, waiting for the older woman's reaction. Mrs. Molyneuxs expression remained firmly neutral; no concern, anger, or sadness. Just acknowledgement. Mildred liked that.

"And how long ago did zis start?" she asked.

"Must have been…" Mildred scrunched up her forehead, trying to remember, "about…two years ago?"

"Mmm," the Mind Healer responded, "anyzing in particular that…how do you Brits zay it…'kicked it off?' "

 _The first time dad thought it would be prudent to fuck_ _ **me**_ _instead of his secretary._

"Yes," Mildred said slowly, "but I don't want to talk about it."

Mrs. Molyneux met her eyes. "Zat is quite alright," she pursed her lips thoughtfully, "vould you be 'villing to talk about 'vhy you harmed yourself last night?"

 _You have to give her_ _ **something.**_ _She's got all the power._

"My friends visited me in the castle for Christmas. Their parents came to pick them up, and were coddling them and hugging them and such. I just got removed from my parents home, and I'm a legal ward. I guess it was upsetting that they got what I can't ever get," Mildred felt blood rush in her cheeks. Transparency was tortuously unbearable for her.

"I imagine zat 'vas quite painful, Mildred," the Mind Healer said, "but I 'ope you realize zat you are 'vorthy of zat kind of care, and _can_ get it at some point."

Mildred snorted. "Fat chance."

Mrs. Molyneux knitted her eyebrows together. "Vhy do you say zat?"

 _This is the analysis I fucking hate._ "Because!" Mildred threw her hands up, "it's true. I know it to be true."

"Do you zink you know it to be zee truth because it _is_ , or because some person _told_ you or _showed_ you it vas?"

Mildred saw red. "Enough with the leading FUCKING questions! What do you want me to say? What do I have to say so you don't lock me up here for three days?"

"You must non concern yourself with 'vat you zink I want to 'ear, Mildred," Mrs. Molyneux responded, not missing a beat.

"Fine!" Mildred sat on her hands, determined to not give into the sudden urge to throw one of the couch cushions at the older woman's face. The Mind Healer's neutrality, which had previously been comforting, was _infuriating_ to Mildred in that moment. She hated herself for wanting a reaction; for wanting the balance of power to be shifted in her favor.

"Mildred," Mrs. Molyneux said calmly, adjusting the golden chain attached to her glasses, "do you ever 'ave zoughts of suicide?"

Mildred rolled her eyes, and slumped back against the couch. "I hate life, but I don't think I could ever end my own. I wouldn't want to give them the satisfaction."

"I see," the Mind Healer steepled her fingers together beneath her chin for a moment, "of whom do you speak 'ven you say _them_?"

Mildred groaned. "I hate these questions."

Mrs. Molyneux shrugged. "Zee majority of people do."

 **03:14pm**

It was paradoxical, really. The supposedly adult duo that submitted a self-destructive child to a much-needed psychiatric evaluation consisted of a tenured Potions Mistress pouting sullenly in a hospital waiting room, back completely turned to an experienced Wizarding Physician with a very blatant case of the schoolboy jitters.

Both tried to immerse themselves in the background noise of the emergency department rather than their own thoughts; and both failed miserably. Ironically, it was not the medical professional that broke the silence.

"That staff nurse will eventually be informed that we are _not_ Ms. Hubble's parents," Constance sniped, adjusting herself so she could glimpse Dr. Grisham's reaction out of the corner of her eye.

"That is likely," the man beside her agreed.

"You are aware that we could have _charges_ pressed against us by allowing her misunderstanding to persist?" Constance crossed her arms and huffed.

"I wrote our _correct_ identifying information on Mildred's admission paperwork," Dr. Grisham asserted with slight hostility, "we are completely protected."

Constance bristled. "Regardless, you should have told that nurse the truth." She knew that she was being blatantly unfair to him; but she always felt such relief when she let off steam by arguing for the sake of arguing.

"I apologize that a stranger mistaking us for a couple disgusts you so much," Dr. Grisham snapped, completely abandoning any semblance of professionalism.

Constance opened and closed her mouth several times. "That's not…Not at all what I said. The mere fact that you would take that so personally… _preposterous_."

Dr. Grisham pressed the heels of his hands into his eye sockets, frustrated. "Then what are you on about? If we are not going to be subjected to any future litigious acts by the Magistrate, why are you so incensed?"

"I am certainly not the most _incensed_ one here!" Constance exclaimed, then promptly lowered her voice when several other occupants in the department waiting room shot her questioning glances. "Honesty matters very much to me, and I abhor being dragged into a lie against my will."

"Well I apologize _deeply_ , Ms. Hardbroom," Dr. Grisham bit out, "it was certainly not my intention to _drag_ you into a lie. Did you consider that I may have been too exhausted to correct that nurse, that it wasn't the most important thing to me at the time? That perhaps, just _perhaps,_ getting Mildred into a safe environment topped my list of priorities in that moment?"

Constance uncrossed her arms, defeated. Yes, she wanted to rage senselessly at the man. It was one of the only ways she knew to alleviate her anxiety; but she would not sink so low as to argue with sound logic simply to achieve that goal. "That is understandable, Dr. Grisham," she murmured, and rested her back against her chair.

The physician faced her, intent on responding, but the ability to speak left him when he saw that every single one of the rapidly changing expressions that flitted across her face was absolutely beautiful in its own way. He was dumbfounded; utterly perplexed at himself. _I don't think I've ever been bloody_ _ **mesmerized**_ _by a woman's mood swings. It must be my age._

Constance noted his self-defeating posture and felt a small twinge of guilt. "I also…" she curled the hand of hers that was not visible to him into a fist, "apologize for my…my unprecedented _attack_ on you a few moments ago."

"I accept it," Dr. Grisham said faintly. He closed his eyes and began to massage his temples.

Constance turned to face him fully. She noted the prominent wrinkles that rippled across the physician's forehead; lines permanently etched into his skin from a lifetime of too much pressure. _The pressure that never gives. The weight that will never lift._ The sudden surge of empathy she felt for the man beside her told her to place a reassuring hand on his arm. She didn't listen to it.

Dr. Grisham readjusted his glasses, and straightened up from his hunched position. He immediately met the intense scrutiny of Constance's eyes, and it grounded him, which he wasn't so sure he was comfortable with.

"Doctor?" she asked timidly.

"Yes?" he acknowledged.

"Do you feel…" Constance shifted her weight nervously, " _drained_ by her situation? Because I do, and I resent myself for it."

There was a slight delay in his response time. Dr. Grisham cleared his throat. "I think _anyone_ would feel drained, Ms. Hardbroom," he watched her lips intently, hoping she'd purse them together in that maddeningly adorable way she sometimes did, "There's no need for self-deprecation."

"You didn't answer my question," Constance deadpanned, agitated by his awkward behavior.

"It is a question that would not be professional for me to answer," he said firmly; but Constance saw his unspoken words flicker briefly across his face: _I am spent. This pains me as much as it pains you._

Constance grabbed onto his momentary flash of vulnerability like a life raft.

" _Professionalism_ is nothing but a social construct," she insisted, not sure why she was so intent on pushing him, "that puts walls up between people; in diametric opposition to its intended purpose. Do not _patronize_ me with that."

"I reserve the right to keep my _thoughts_ to myself _."_ Dr. Grisham glanced briefly at her chest; appreciating the way her bosoms heaved up and down beneath the black satin of her dress. _And my_ _ **hands**_ _to myself._

"That's fair," Constance bit out, unable to hide her disappointment. She had hoped to have an exchange with someone who felt the same level of outrage and horror with the world, someone who wanted to protect a certain clumsy young witch as fiercely as she did, their professional roles be damned. _But he's too distracted by my breasts to have an actual conversation._ She ground her teeth together.

Dr. Grisham was puzzled by her sudden ire. _Why would my personal boundary anger her so?_ He knew that the answer to his minds question was likely not a healthy one, but he was nonetheless infatuated with finding it. "Ms. Hardbroom…just because I don't want to share my thoughts with you…" he paused for a moment, then damned his better judgment, "does not mean you are prohibited from sharing your thoughts with me."

"Of course I am!" she exclaimed, and let out a bitter laugh. "There's no level playing field if I am the _only_ one sharing." _Maybe he wants literal_ _ **tit**_ _for tat._

"I wasn't aware we were engaged in a power struggle," he said placidly.

" _Everyone_ is engaged in a power struggle, Doctor," Constance said with conviction, "whether they would like to admit it or not."

"Oh?" Dr. Grisham raised a condescending eyebrow, gaining more confidence in himself by playing the keen analyst, "and what _sort_ of battles do you assume everyone fights with each other?"

"I don't assume, Doctor. I _observe_ ," she met his eyes determinedly, "and the battles that I witness, time and time again, are battles waged over _needs_."

"I'm not sure I understand," Dr. Grisham said skeptically.

Constance broke off eye contact. She stared down at the linoleum floor, unpleasantly recalling the horrendous memory she'd been forced to witness the night before. "We use other peoples _needs_ as weapons to combat our own."

Dr. Grisham frowned at her solemn demeanor. "That sounds like a pointless battle," he remarked, "With those sort of stakes, there are no victors."

Constance chuckled bitterly. "There's _always_ a victor." She closed her eyes and tipped her head back. _The scorned, aging mother is victorious when the pure, youthful daughter she disfigures and drowns still yearns to be cradled in her arms. The violent tutor is victorious when the student she beats returns to her for lessons._

Dr. Grisham could not help but admire the flawless, ivory skin of Constance's exposed throat, and the delicate, fluttering pulsation of her jugular vein just above her collarbone. If he had been privy to the traumatic memories that infiltrated her consciousness at that moment, he would have damned himself to the ninth circle of hell for his opportunistic leering.

"Mildred cast Memorias Expulsor," Constance said softly, and kept her eyes firmly shut. "She cast it… _involuntarily_."

"She bloody _what_?" Dr. Grisham yelled.

Constances eyes flew open.

Dr. Grisham fixed her with an intense, searching look, completely oblivious to the attention he had drawn from those around them.

Constance sat up. "You heard what I said," she gestured towards the curious onlookers surrounding them, and cracked a wry smile. "So much for Professionalism, Doctor."

He looked at her incredulously. "Did you say that just to get a _rise_ out of-"

"Of _course_ not," Constance interrupted, waving her hand dismissively, "don't be ridiculous. I just thought I should inform you."

"Yes, and at the most _opportune_ time," Dr. Grisham said sarcastically, "in the middle of a group of witches and wizards we don't know at a _hospital_."

Constance sneered. "I would wager that they would not be so inclined to eavesdrop if you had made an effort to contain your _roar_ of surprise."

"Be that as it may, this is not the time or _place_ to discuss.." Dr. Grisham trailed off, too aghast to finish his statement. He shook his head. _Memorias Expulsor? Cast_ _ **involuntarily**_ _? That would be the first occurrence in magical_ _ **history**_ _._ He bit his lip, frustrated that he could not investigate the Potions Mistress' claims further due to their surrounding environment.

"Doctor Grissam?" a polite French voice pulled him back into reality. He turned to face a short, plump woman dressed in cartoon-themed scrubs.

"Er, yes," he rose to his feet clumsily, and read the name on the badge clipped to her top, "Mrs…Molyneux?"

"Zat is me," she smiled broadly, and shook his hand firmly. "I am zee Mind Healer who evaluated Ms. 'Ubble."

"Oh!" Dr. Grisham exclaimed, truly surprised. He had not expected a Mind Healer to have an aura of such eccentricity.

Constance cleared her throat loudly.

"Ah, yes. Forgive me," he nodded towards Constance, and motioned his hand in between the two women in a poor attempt at an introduction, "This is…this is Constance Hardbroom. Potions Mistress and Deputy Headmistress of Cackles Academy. She has been Mildred's teacher ever since she began her schooling."

"Ello, Ms. 'Ardbroom," Mrs. Molyneux greeted her, not at all intimidated by the younger woman's towering form.

"It's a pleasure, Mrs. Molyneux," Constance lent her hand downwards to the much shorter witch.

After the handshake, Mrs. Molyneux fixed Dr. Grisham with a questioning look. "Is she considered to have guardianship of zee girl?"

Dr. Grisham shook his head, and shot Constance a genuinely apologetic look. "No, it's just me, since I am technically an employee of the Magistrate."

"Ah…'vell then," the Mind Healer said, turning kind eyes to Constance, "I apologize, Ms. 'Ardbroom. I am only allowed to discuss zee girls condition with Monsieur Grissam."

"I understand the laws," Constance said indignantly, "I'm not _offended_. I am perfectly content waiting out here."

Dr. Grisham's lips twitched. He found her stubbornness charming. "Thank you, Ms. Hardbroom," he said evenly, "we will be right back."

"Yes, yes," she muttered; and perched herself back onto an uncomfortable waiting room chair. She glared at the back of Dr. Grisham's head as Mrs. Molyneux led him back to her office. Constance was not at all pleased with being excluded.

* * *

A/N: Chapter 10 ended up being much longer than anticipated. I didn't want to make you guys wait for two more days while I finish editing the last half, so I decided to post the first part now. Second part WILL be up on June 30th.


	11. Untouchable, Pt 2

_Chapter 10: Untouchable_

 _PART TWO_

A/N: It took me FOREVER. I know. I had to perfect it. This was the hardest chapter to write; nuances and all. I wanted it to be good, not just passable.

 **Dec. 26** **th** **, 1999**

 **04:01pm**

St. Aumars cafeteria was emptier than usual for the late afternoon. The snowstorm that had been raging throughout the hospitals township since dawn had likely caused the absence of its routine patrons; local witches and wizards that were related to chronically ill patients.

Mildred, Dr. Grisham, and Ms. Hardbroom had settled themselves at a secluded table in the far corner of the hospital mess hall. The physician felt a bit uneasy in his company, his young patient and her professor seemed to have formed some sort of intimate bond with each other that he was not privy to. They kept communicating silently through meaningful looks.

Despite his apprehension, Dr. Grisham was at least relieved that the cafeteria's near-emptiness would allow them to speak freely of sensitive matters without the fear of being overheard.

"Mildred," he said softly, "are you comfortable with Ms. Hardbroom knowing what was discussed between Mrs. Molyneux and I?"

"Yes, it's fine," Mildred said stonily, and pushed her untouched lunch tray away from her.

"Alright, then," he said cautiously, "Mrs. Molyneux has already discussed the conditions of your release with you, correct?"

"Yes, didn't she _tell_ you that already?" Mildred snapped, and made sure to fix Dr. Grisham with the most hateful glare she could.

Constance turned towards Mildred and broke her silence. " _Watch_ your tone," she reprimanded, squaring her shoulders authoritatively, "He is only trying to help. He doesn't deserve to be spoken to that way."

 _Oh, so I only deserve caustic barbs when they are coming from_ _ **you**_ Dr. Grisham thought, irritated. "Ms. Hardbroom, I am hardly taking this personally," he said haughtily, and harshly brushed imaginary dust from the lapels of his coat, "I have had a great deal of experience with opposition and hostility."

Constance willed herself not to roll her eyes. "Be that as it may, I am Mildred's _form_ mistress and reserve the right to redirect her behavior."

Dr. Grisham set his jaw. "Very well," he said stiffly, "then as her form mistress you should be informed that Mildred is only being released upon the condition that she will return to St. Aumar's for Mind Healing sessions three times per week. I, her surrogate _guardian_ , will accompany her to them."

Constances' eyes gleamed confrontationally. "I believe it would be best if we _alternated_ , Doctor. At present, she does not seem thrilled to be in your company and I think it is in her best interest to respect that."

Mildred's mouth nearly dropped open. _Did Ms. Hardbroom really just use_ _ **me**_ _as a pawn in this dispute?_

"If Mildred feels that is best, I have absolutely no arguments," Dr. Grisham said through gritted teeth.

"It is settled then," Constance said proudly. She leaned back against her chair, a satisfied smirk on her face.

"Yeah, guys," Mildred said sarcastically, "it doesn't really matter what _I_ want or anything. Just which one of you wins."

Like a needle, shame pricked the weak walls of Dr. Grisham's ego; causing instant deflation. He sighed, realizing that he'd disregarded the gentle handling of a traumatized child in favor of engaging in a petty argument.

"I apologize, Mildred," he said quietly, accepting the young witch's disdainful glare, "that was tactless of me. Of _us_ , really." He nervously glanced to the woman at his side.

Constance hated losing, but she knew he was right. "I apologize as well, Mildred," she said candidly, then added, "for not consulting you about your wishes regarding who will take you to your sessions here. I do not, however, apologize for asking you to speak to the _physician_ with respect."

 _Do as you say, and not as you_ _ **do**_ _, huh?_ Mildred resisted the temptation to raise her left eyebrow in condescension. "It's alright," she grumbled, "I don't care who bloody takes me. As long as we can leave this place in the next hour."

 **06:12pm**

A cloud of green and purple smoke appeared at the edge of mistletoe forest. The thick, colorful haze thinned to reveal the shivering forms of Mildred, Dr. Grisham, and Ms. Hardbroom.

Like a ball from a cannon, Mildred made a beeline for the Cackles Academy entryway. The two companions she had abandoned looked at each other exasperatedly; merely _watching_ the young witch move so fast made the both of them tired.

"Come _on_!" Mildred whined impatiently from her standing spot just outside the closed doors of the castle. She bounced from foot to foot in a desperate attempt to raise her body temperature.

Constances teeth were chattering together so hard that she could not formulate a reply. She forced herself to walk towards Mildred faster. The increase in speed made her bones ache.

"Why couldn't you have materialized us right outside the door?" Mildred demanded, rubbing her hands together to re-establish sensation in her palms.

"Because," Constance said, burying her hands in her robe pockets, "you cannot materialize within the castles' parameters if you are bringing a _passenger._ Security reasons." Constance retrieved the heavy key ring from her pocket and brought it up to her line of sight, squinting. When she identified the appropriate key for the entryway door, she hurriedly stuffed it into its corresponding lock, granting the trio access to much needed warmth.

 **06:31pm**

The atmosphere in the dining hall was thick with the strain of the day's events. Mildred kept flicking green peas across her plate with her fork; turning her dinner into a game of miniature hockey.

"You aren't going to eat anything, Mildred?" Dr. Grisham asked quietly.

"We were just in the cafeteria two _hours_ ago," Mildred quipped, launching a pea over her mound of mashed potatoes.

"You didn't eat anything _then_ , either," the man across from her pressed.

Mildred narrowed her eyes at his untouched food. "Don't worry," she sniped, "I'll write a formal letter to the Magistrate that will strip you of any liability if I die of hunger on your watch."

" _Mildred!_ " Ms. Hardbroom exclaimed, despite the fact that she wasn't particularly put off by Mildred's attitude. She was actually quite _impressed_ with the sharpness of her student's barb; but she certainly couldn't openly praise the girl for it.

Mildred picked up on the fact that her teacher was putting on a show of reprimanding her, and consequently ignored her formidable potions mistress and continued to glare antagonistically at Dr. Grisham.

The physician smiled weakly at her. She could have sworn he looked _stung_ for a moment. Mildred conjured up heated thoughts in order to repress the feeling of guilt that swilled in her stomach. _I_ _ **hate**_ _him for helping me. I didn't ask that_ _ **arse**_ _to interfere in my life._

"A letter would do no good, Mildred," Dr. Grisham said airily, lacing his hands together and locking them under his chin, "the Magistrate does not view you as the ultimate arbiter of who is culpable for a potential decline in your health."

Mildred opened her mouth, but before she could condemn the Magistrate, Dr. Grisham cut her off. "I assume that Mrs. Molyneux explained your 90 day probationary to you in detail?"

Mildred seethed, ready to spit a mouthful of saliva directly into his face. "Yes, I fucking _remember_ ," she said nastily, "the probationary charm you cast on me will alert you if I have injured myself for the next three months. If I do, I will be committed to the loony bin for three days and my 90 days will start all over again."

Constance's eyes darted between Dr. Grisham and Mildred. "Is this accurate, doctor?" she questioned.

"Yes," he said shortly, not sparing the woman next to him a glance.

Mildred dropped her fork onto her plate; the unpleasant sound of metal clattering against china resounding throughout the dining hall. Both adults shot her warning looks, which triggered even _more_ resentment within her.

Her magic was dangerously close to spilling from her fingertips of its _own_ accord, as it had the last time her father had violated her and she'd made all the glass windows in her bedroom shatter at once. "I'm going to bed," Mildred said resolutely, pushing herself up from her seat. The sparks of magic coursing through her bloodstream brushed against the inner layers of her blood vessels; eliciting a powerful tingling sensation.

Constance, used to establishing dominance over her obstinate pupils, figured that standing down from Mildred was the best course of action; as she recognized that something potentially dangerous to her person was brewing within the younger witch. The girl's hazel eyes had turned a deep violet color, and the progressively brightening white glow beneath her skin had caused all the freckles on her face to disappear.

At her side, Dr. Grisham's face paled, and his whole body went rigid.

"Alright then, Mildred," Constance said cautiously, hunching her shoulders to make herself appear smaller and non-threatening. "I will come up to your dormitory in a little while."

 **07:02pm**

"Pardon me, Ms. Hardbroom,," said Dr. Grisham, settling himself on a laboratory bench opposite from Constances' desk, "but what the hell was _that?_ " He had thought that the walk from the dining hall to the Potions classroom would have eased the effects of his surging adrenaline; but he found that the rises in his blood pressure and heart rate had not abated.

"Her magic is unbridled," Constance said stoically, "she is a _much_ more powerful witch than I had previously thought. All of the chandeliers on the ceiling were _vibrating_. I doubt she even noticed."

Dr. Grisham tried to focus on the woman before him, but his pupils were so dilated that all he could see was a blur of ebony and ivory. "I haven't seen uncontrollable magic like that in nearly a _decade_ ," he confided. He undid the top button on his collar, allowing the cool castle air to soothe the flushed skin of his neck.

"What have you seen?" Constance questioned, thoroughly curious.

"I was treating a Russian wizard traumatized by the Great War," the physician began, and paused to let the intensity of his brief emotional flashback pass. He cleared his throat before continuing, "I was applying salve to a particularly garish wound on his leg, and I brushed over a sensitive area with my antiseptic solution. He cried out in agony and cowered away from me, begging me to spare his life. He thought he was being attacked again. I tried to re-orient him to his actual environment, but stopped when I heard a great rumbling sound. Initially, I assumed there was an earthquake. But when I looked up, I saw that the entirety of the stucco ceiling above us was covered with cracks, cracks that were expanding quite rapidly. I looked out the window, and saw that the east end of the veterans ward had collapsed. I materialized my patient and I out of the facility just before the room we were in followed suit. 408 people died that day."

A cold feeling burgeoned beneath Constance's ribcage. "That.." she hesitated for a moment to process. "That was the wizarding hospital in the Middle East. The one disguised as a shelter?"

"Yes, it was," Dr. Grisham nodded gravely, "The Magistrate and the Global Wizarding Defense Board worked tirelessly to ensure that the collapse was seen as the result of an airstrike by non-magical folk. It was one of the largest memory alteration campaigns in Wizarding history."

Constance winced. "Yes, I remember. Several of my old classmates from Weirdsister went to Iraq to help with the relief effort," she took a moment to quarantine the sudden grief that washed over her from her external affect. "Two of the five took their own lives after they returned home to Europe," she finished quietly, and smoothed the wrinkles out of her dress.

"Several colleagues of mine did the same," Dr. Grisham said distantly. _And I was the first to find one of them, swinging from his garage ceiling._ He closed his eyes briefly, needing to change the subject to regain a modicum of mental stability.

"If your former classmates went to help with relief, why did you not accompany them?" he queried.

"Believe me, I _wanted_ to," Constance explained, "but I was not certified for Magical Disaster Relief."

"Magical Disaster Relief is one of the _hallmark_ courses that is offered at Weirdsister" Dr. Grisham remarked curiously, "why did you not take it during your time there?"

"I had a form mistress that was rather… _authoritarian_ ," Constance said darkly, unfolding her arms. "She told me I was no good to anyone in need. And as young, naïve, and starved for approval as I was; I believed her." She set her left elbow on her desktop, and rested her chin in her hand.

The silken sleeve of Constances' gown hung loosely from her thin forearm, such that the symmetrical white scars marring her left wrist were exposed. Dr. Grisham noticed.

"I'm sorry to hear that," he said sympathetically, suddenly aware of how sorrowful her downturned eyes must have been.

After several moments, Dr. Grisham spoke once more. "Ms. Hardbroom, I am concerned that if Mildred does not get well, a disaster such as the hospital collapse I witnessed in Iraq will occur in the future."

Constance looked up at him. "But, Doctor," she exclaimed, "that was a _massive_ incident. You surely don't think that _Mildred_ is capable-"

"I know she is capable of that, Constance," Dr. Grisham's eyes (which had finally focused properly) flashed with intensity, "the Russian Wizard that destroyed that hospital did so with involuntary magic that was _weaker_ than Mildred's."

"How…how do you know?" Constance asked; much too shaken to feel irritated that the physician had just used her first name.

"His eyes…the irises turned white," Dr. Grisham replied. Constance cocked her head to the side, and he explained further, "That is a physical marker of level _two_ uncontrolled eruption. At level one, the eyes turn red. At level three, they turn _violet_."

Constance felt as if thousands of small insects had crept through her vertebrae to invade and subsequently crawl up her spinal cord. "You mean to say…" she said hoarsely, "we could have _died_ tonight had she been pushed further?"

"Yes, along with every non-magical resident of the village on the other side of Mistletoe forest," Dr. Grisham deadpanned. "The near-eruption I saw tonight coupled with the fact that she involuntarily cast _Memorias Expulsor_ in your presence may very well mean that her magic _exceeds_ the power of level three."

The blood drained from Constances' face. She clasped her hands together. "But she is just a _child_."

"I agree," the physician said gently, "and I doubt she'd ever wield her power with malicious intent."

"But that wizard that you treated did not intend to kill hundreds of people _either_ ," Constance said miserably, "and yet he is still a fugitive on the run from the Magistrate."

Dr. Grisham pursed his lips, and pushed his spectacles up his nose. Constance thought the gold rims framing the glass lenses complemented his crystal blue eyes quite nicely. "That is why we are not going to inform them," he asserted.

"I might have imprisoned you here had you said anything else," Constance commended, her voice thick with gratitude.

"As reckless as the law may see it," he said resolutely, "she is only as dangerous as others let her be. The fact that she has not killed her parents, and did not kill us tonight, is a testament to how much she can unknowingly will herself not to cause harm."

"Can she be taught to harness the power she has?" Constance implored frantically, "or do you believe that taking her out of harms way is the best approach?"

Dr. Grisham sighed, and stared down at the weathered lines that snaked across his palms. "I wish I knew the answer to that," he said sadly, "but I don't."

 **09:43pm**

The sound of her dormitory door creaking open made Mildred jump slightly. The shadow of Ms Hardbroom's tall form fell across the foot of her bed. Mildred sighed in relief, her form mistress had actually kept her promise to tuck her in. She had not been expecting that; she figured she had drained enough of the older witches energy the night before and as a result didn't _deserve_ any more of her attention.

"Mildred, are you still awake?" Constance asked, stepping into her room.

Mildred was shocked to find that her teacher had donned her silk maroon pajamas and had let her waist length hair down from its bun. _Does she intend to sleep in my room for the_ _ **second**_ _night in a row?_

"Yes Miss, I'm still awake," Mildred breathed, touched.

"Excellent," Constance said quickly, and closed Mildred's door. "I apologize for taking so long to arrive."

"Uh..." Mildred uttered, dumbfounded. "It's...it's okay. You really didn't have to in the first place...but, uh, thanks. You don't have to sleep here if you don't want either."

"Oh!" Constance practically gasped, her voice uncharacteristically shrill. She knotted her fingers around the hem of her nightshirt. "I...I assumed you wanted me here...but I didn't even bother to _ask_ -"

"No no!" Mildred interrupted frantically, sitting up on her knees, "that's not what I meant, Miss. I- I want you to stay. I just...I don't want to be...a _burden_ to you, I guess."

Constance met the young witch's eyes. The sad realization that dawned on her was evident on her face for only a moment before her expression hardened. "Mildred Hubble," she said in a clipped tone, "if I ever hear you refer to yourself as a _burden_ again I will have you writing lines for _weeks_."

Mildred sat back. She wasn't scared of her form mistress' reaction, she just didn't _understand_ it. _Why would anyone get offended that I called myself a burden?_

"Now," Constance said with a barely detectable shake in her voice, "we both need to get some rest." She pointed her fingers determinedly at Mildred's nightstand, and transmogrified it into a fully made, twin-sized bed.

"Alright," Mildred agreed. Her chest hurt and she didn't know why.

Constance shuffled awkwardly through the small space in between their beds. As she pulled back her comforter and top sheet, she felt a light tap on her shoulder.

Constance turned around. "What is-"

Before she could finish her question, Mildred had wrapped her arms tightly around her midsection, burying her head in her abdomen.

"Thank you," the girl murmured into her pajama top.

Constance cupped the back of Mildred's head gently. She said nothing.

* * *

 **Dec. 29th, 1999**

 **03:09pm**

"Mildred, you may come with me now."

The young witch rose from Mrs. Molyneux's couch, and trudged across the carpet towards the familiar man in the office doorway. Dr. Grisham had the good sense not to guide her by the shoulder as they left the Mind Healer's office.

"Did you have a good session?" the physician asked casually, once they had travelled halfway down the deserted hospital hallway.

Mildred shrugged noncommittally. "She makes some good suggestions, I guess." _Like to draw something or squeeze a cube of ice in my hand whenever I feel like cutting._ "She also makes some stupid ones." _Like to talk to a trusted peer or adult if I feel like hurting myself._

"Fair enough," Dr. Grisham acknowledged, tempering his long-legged strides so his patient could keep up with him.

 _So he's finally learned to shut the fuck_ _ **up**_ _around me_ Mildred thought bitterly. She glanced at him sideways, noting his tightly reserved expression.

' _Maybe you should consider_ _ **'vhy**_ _you are angry at a man who has done you no harm?'_

Mrs. Molyneux's maddeningly profound words reverberated in the young witches' head. She began to viciously chew on one of her plaits. Dr. Grisham noticed her vigorous engagement in her life-long nervous habit; but chose to remain silent.

Mildred paradoxically found herself slightly _offended_ that he was not pushing her for more information. _What is wrong with me? I just want to stick to_ _ **one**_ _emotional opinion, god dammit._ The young witch was so lost in mentally scorning her emotional lability that when she made to clamp down her teeth on the damp clump of hair in her mouth she missed the mark and bit the inside of her lower lip.

"Agh!" she cried out in response to the harsh pain.

"Mildred?" Dr. Grisham asked worriedly. In an instant, he had managed to turn around completely and kneel down in front of her.

"Ugh…nothing," Mildred groaned, swallowing blood. "I just bit my lip."

He fixed her with a searching look.

" _Really,_ " she insisted, "I'm fine. I think it's bleeding a bit, but it's just a flesh wound."

Dr. Grisham's lips twitched. He raised his eyebrows. "Monty _Python?"_

Mildred nodded. "No one's too young for it."

The physician grinned broadly. He started to make a joke, but was quick to stop himself before he spoke once he remembered that his young patient had not been feeling particularly _amicable_ towards him as of late.

Mildred caught the disappointment that flashed briefly across the physician's face. It felt as if the heavy guilt in her stomach had doubled in weight.

"Uhm, Dr. Grisham?" she said hesitantly.

He paused mid-rise from his stooping position. "Yes, Mildred?"

"I…I'm _sorry_ or whatever. For being so…terse." _And bitchy. And mean. And ungrateful._

"Apology accepted," Dr. Grisham acknowledged, a lighthearted bounce evident in his tone. "I don't blame you for needing to direct your anger somewhere." _And I'm bloody relieved that you have the big heart I thought you did; since it's the only thing keeping you from reducing the United Kingdom to a vast wasteland every time you get frustrated._

"Okay," Mildred said shyly, clasping her hands behind her back and twisting her body from side to side like a young school child.

"Okay," Dr. Grisham said happily; feeling a small amount of the burden on his shoulders reduce.

The pair began to walk again.

Once they had reached the bottom floor of the hospital, Mildred asked, "So when are you going to ask Ms. Hardbroom out on a date?"

"I beg your _pardon?_ " Dr. Grisham exclaimed.

"I think New Years Eve would be nice," Mildred continued conversationally, "or at least some time _before_ she has to start work when winter term begins."

"Mildred, I understand that you've been through a lot as of late," Dr. Grisham sputtered, "but it is highly _inappropriate_ for you to be making suggestions of that sort."

"So you aren't _denying_ that you want to ask her out, then?" Mildred questioned, her eyes sparkling.

"I do not _intend_ to engage romantically with your form mistress," he insisted, the sweat that beaded on his forehead giving him away, "and I would appreciate it greatly if you would _drop the subject._ "

"So you don't _intend_ to ask her out, but you definitely _want_ to ask her out," Mildred sang, ignoring his request completely.

Dr. Grisham grumbled in defeat. " _Cheeky brat_ ," he muttered under his breath.

Mildred grinned and skipped ahead of him.

Once the two had made it past the boundary of St. Aumars vast, frozen courtyard; Dr. Grisham materialized them both to the edge of the forest bordering Cackles Academy. Mildred, intent on indulging herself with some much-needed alone time, began to bustle quickly towards the schools' wrought-iron gates.

"Mildred," Dr. Grisham called out to her.

She turned to face him. "Yes, Doctor?"

"Have you given any more thought as to whether or not you would like to attend your parent's trial?" he inquired.

His question hit her like a speeding bullet, she felt as if shattered metal fragments had scattered across her chest to pierce her heart and lungs. It terrified her initially; but that fear instantaneously morphed into the corrosive, monstrous rage that the thought of her parents always brought out in her.

She _knew_ that the fury she shook with was born from the grudges she sowed and tended to like fragile children; grudges that the man before her was not responsible for. His eyes grew large, and he stepped back from her. _It's not his fault, it's not his fault, it's not his fault_ she desperately repeated over and over in her mind like a prayer.

"I'm _not_ angry at you!" Mildred blurted out, "I just fucking _hate_ that I still have to deal with their _shit!_ " She felt the ground shake beneath her. Dr. Grisham seized her arm and pulled her aside just in time to miss being crushed by the massive tree branch that had snapped and fallen from the oak tree above them.

Mildred deflated. She stared wide-eyed at the man who still held her arm in a vice-like grip. "Did I…" she croaked, barely able to find her voice, "did I do _that?_ "

"You sure did," he answered, looking at her with a mix of admiration and terror.

" _Fuck,_ " Mildred cursed.

Dr. Grisham nodded his head, positively dazed. "Fuck _indeed._ "

Mildred took it upon herself to take ten deep, slow breaths before speaking again. "I guess I could go," she offered, "if Ms. Hardbroom came with me."

"I think," he said carefully, "that if you work through most of your resentment during your mind healing sessions, that would be… _appropriate_."

"Don't sound so sure," Mildred replied airily, too shocked to take offense.

"Of course, I do not have a legal right to set those conditions," Dr. Grisham said quickly, hoping to avoid a _second_ life-threatening incident,"you alone must make the decision of whether or not to attend. I just _recommend_ that you work through your…frustrations." _Also, I want to avoid having one of my patients committing involuntary mass murder in a courtroom in the middle of London._

"It's not a bad recommendation," Mildred said, trying to be kind. In truth, she loathed it when other people gave their input on her emotions, but the physician looked so _worried_ that she wanted to soothe him in whatever way she could.

He simply nodded, his complexion waxy.

"I'm sorry I almost killed you with a tree?" Mildred tried.

Dr. Grisham let out a laugh that was more anxiety-ridden than jovial, and met her eyes. "It's alright," he said shakily, offering her a smile so manic it was nearly comical.

Mildred sighed to herself. She had been hoping to bring some real relief to him, and she had failed in that respect.

 _Oh well_ she thought to herself, _at least he doesn't look like he's about to sick up anymore._

 **06:18pm**

Mildred plopped herself down on the dining hall bench across from Ms. Hardbroom. She promptly began to devour her full plate of food.

Constance watched her in awe. "You had a pleasant day, I assume?"

Mildred looked up and nodded, her mouth so full of food that both of her cheeks resembled inflated balloons.

"You look like a blowfish," Constance observed dryly.

Mildred shrugged unapologetically, and continued to chew.

"I've been meaning to ask you something" Constance announced, before Mildred could take in another forkful of her pasta salad.

"Okay," her student assented, setting down her utensil. She met Constances' eyes almost… _dutifully._

The older woman rubbed her hands together uncomfortably, and looked away. _Why_ _ **me,**_ _girl? Why would you trust a bitter old spinster?_ "Well," she said awkwardly, "I was wondering how you would like to celebrate New Years Eve."

"Uhh….I…" Mildred blabbered, so shell-shocked she could barely verbalize, "Are you…are you _serious?_ "

Constance felt her cheeks grow inexplicably hot. _Of course a teenager doesn't want to enjoy the holidays with her bitter old teacher! What were you_ _ **thinking**_ _, Constance?_ "Well I wouldn't have _asked_ if I was not serious," the older witch muttered with misdirected frustration, "have you ever _known_ me to say things that I do not mean?"

Mildred cringed. She hadn't meant to offend her. "No, that's not it at all Miss!" she insisted, "I didn't think you were having a go at me. I'm just a bit… _surprised._ " _Surprised that you would be concerned about my happiness during the holidays. Even more surprised that you would ever consider_ _ **celebrating**_ _anything._

"Partaking in festivities just seemed to be something that you have enjoyed," Constance explained, "I simply thought that you would be interested in finding something… _fun_ to do."

"I-I…I appreciate that, Miss," Mildred offered, feeling incredibly embarrassed for a reason she couldn't quite pin down. "But I'm content to just sit on the castle balcony and watch the fireworks that Mistletoe Village sets off."

"I see," Constance said reservedly, "that is what we will do, then." She felt stung that Mildred was not in a better mood, then angry at herself for feeling stung in the first place. _How could you possibly expect her to open up to_ _ **you**_ _about her desires? She only engages with you because you were the first warm body to comfort her without asking anything in return; her attachment to you is on the whole unhealthy and transient._

Across the table, Mildred felt overwhelmed with guilt. _You have to offer her something in return, she's obviously upset because you keep taking from her like an entitled little brat. She offered you a fun time, now you offer_ _ **her**_ _a fun time._ "Uh, Miss Hardbroom?" Mildred asked delicately, desperate to wipe the injured expression off of her teachers' face, "do you think we could invite _Dr. Grisham_ over for New Years Eve?"

Constance looked at her like she had just proposed dying her hair fuschia.

"Oh come _on,_ " Mildred intoned, her eyes twinkling, "I see the way you look at him."

"You are being outlandishly presumptuous, Mildred Hubble!" Constance nearly shrieked, two spots of color forming on her pale cheeks, "not to mention wrong."

"Hey, okay, okay," Mildred raised her hands in a gesture of truce, "I believe you."

 **09:08pm**

Bent over her desk in her dormitory room, Mildred smiled mischievously at the piece of parchment in front of her:

 _ **Dr. Grisham,**_

 _ **I am writing this letter to you in the hopes that you will join Ms. Hubble and I at the Academy Castle for dinner on New Years Eve. I am trying to encourage her to partake in festivities; and believe it would be much more enjoyable for her if there was another adult besides me present. If you are able to attend, please be punctual and arrive at 5:30pm sharp, as we usually eat dinner at 6pm. Perhaps you can bring some champagne.**_

 _ **Sincerely,**_

 _ **Constance Hardbroom**_

 _ **Deputy Headmistress of Cackles Academy**_

Mildred rubbed her lips together thoughtfully, re-reading the letter several times until she was convinced that no further editing was necessary in order to ensure that the invitation was written in a convincingly Hardbroom-ish fashion. She carefully folded the piece of parchment in half, and placed it in an addressed envelope. She would take it to the postage owlery the following morning before sunrise.

* * *

 **Dec. 30** **th** **, 1999**

 **02:00pm**

"Dr. Grisham has a crush on Ms. Hardbroom," Mildred said happily, "and I think Ms. Hardbroom fancies him _too_." She practically bounced on Mrs. Molyneux's couch with excitement.

"Mmm," the Mind Healer said thoughtfully, and crossed her legs. "'Vat makes you say zat?"

Mildred shifted uncomfortably. _She didn't even crack a smile. I guess I should have expected that. Shrinks get paid to fix patients with creepy stares until they start blubbering about their childhood_. "Well...he can barely speak to her without turning red. And she tries to use a bunch of big words and prove herself right every time she talks to him."

"You may be right," Mrs. Molyneux said slowly, "but zen again, you may be wrong. People can act in zertain ways for any number of reasons."

"Oh," Mildred said conspiratorially, "I _know_ I'm not wrong. I could cut the sexual tension between those two with a _knife_. "

"Mmm," the woman across from her acknowledged neutrally, "iz it important to you zat you are reading zis situation correctly?"

Mildred frowned. "Stop speaking in riddles. What are you asking me?"

Mrs. Molyneux looked at her imploringly. "Do you _'vant_ zem to be attracted to each other?"

"I..." Mildred began hesitantly, "I guess I would like that to be the case. Well, it _is_ the case." She fingered a loose thread on the couch cushion. _If she could only see the way they talk to each other…she would_ _ **know**_ _that I'm right_ Mildred thought vehemently. _I_ _ **definitely**_ _don't intend to tell her that I invited Dr. Grisham over for New Years Eve._

"And 'vhy do you like 'zee idea of romance between 'zem?"

"I don't know!" Mildred threw her hands up in consternation. "Because it's nice to see people fancy each other? _Hundreds_ flock to the cinema to see romantic films, I'm no different from _them_. There's nothing _wrong_ with me."

"Mildred, I did not zay anyzing is wrong 'vith you," Mrs. Molyneux reminded her softly, "I just 'vonder why an attraction between zee two particular _people_ you speak of has you so exzited."

"Uggghh!" Mildred groaned, closing her eyes and resting her head back on the couch cushion behind her. "Do you have to ruin _everything_?"

"Zat is not my intention," the Mind Healer responded candidly, "but is often unpleasant to look at zee deeper meanings behind 'zertain emotions, even exzitement."

Mildred huffed. "So what _exactly_ ," she half-growled, her eyes flashing with antagonism, "is the deeper meaning behind my excitement, _Doctor_?"

" 'Vell, I cannot speak for you but-"

"You're going to," Mildred muttered, crossing her arms dejectedly.

"I 'zink it is possible zat you hope that your doctor and instructor 'ave a potential relationzip because it would fulfill zee need you 'ave for functional parental figures," Mrs. Molyneux asserted, unperturbed by Mildred's prior interruption.

 _She's gone completely fucking_ _ **mad**_ _._ "I respect your opinion," Mildred grumbled, not even trying to pretend that she was mulling it over, "but that doesn't change the fact that it's nutters."

" 'Zat is definitely a possibility," Mrs. Molyneux replied pleasantly, and suppressed a knowing smile.

"Oh, stop acting like you know everything!" Mildred spat. "No one has functional parental figures. And besides, I can't wait to be rid of the two wastes of space that _attempted_ to raise me."

"I respect your sentiment," Mrs. Molyneux said in a low voice, and pondered her next statement. "Do you 'vish to attend your parents trial?"

The acids in Mildred's stomach began to churn. "Why the _hell_ is everyone so keen on asking me that lately?"

The Mind Healer shrugged her shoulders casually. "Because it iz an important upcoming event in your life 'zat 'zose who care about you 'vant to know your thoughts about."

"Oh please don't pretend like you actually _care_ about me" Mildred growled. "Besides," she said haughtily, turning up her nose, "I've already made a decision about the trial."

"Oh?" Mrs. Molyneux asked in a voice that had risen in pitch.

" _Oh?_ " Mildred mocked her callously, "Oh, yes. I will go to the trial if Ms. Hardbroom comes with me."

The older woman considered her for a moment. "Ms. Hardbroom," she said thoughtfully, "you 'avent discussed her once 'zince we began our sessions. Yet, she is 'zee one you feel comfortable with witnessing one of 'zee most intimate moments of your life."

" _Don't_ tell me how I feel!" Mildred yelled. In the far corner of the office, the porcelain statue of Buddha on Mrs. Molyneux's desk began to shake. The young witch forced herself to take several deep breaths to calm herself. _Destroying my shrink's office will_ _ **definitely**_ _get me locked up._ Relief washed over her when the statue stopped vibrating and it did not appear that Mrs. Molyneux had noticed her near-eruption.

"Besides," Mildred mumbled, eying white Buddha nervously, "I doubt she'll come to the trial anyway. She's not _that_ important to me."

"Your Professor must be important to you if she is 'zee one you are considering bringing to your parents hearing," Mrs. Molyneux challenged, sitting back in her chair. " 'Vhy don't you 'zink Ms. Hardbroom would be 'villing to accompany you?"

 _Because I'm a burden. Because she's angry that she has to keep acting like she cares about me. She's only compelled to fake it because she_ _ **pities**_ _me. But I bet she resents me too._

"I just don't think she would" Mildred whispered, her expression morose. "I don't want to talk to you anymore. About anything."

Mrs. Molyneux noted her patient's hooded lids, the blood-shot whites of her eyes, and miserable frown. In her professional opinion, she thought it would be wise not to push the girl further. "If 'zat is what you wish, Mildred," she said gently, "we can end early for today."

The surprise and subsequent intense gratitude that flashed across the girl's eyes suggested that she was not used to having her feelings acknowledged, let alone respected.

* * *

 **Dec. 31** **st** **, 1999**

 **05:36pm**

 _What on_ _ **earth?**_ Constance made her way towards the resounding knock that had been resounding throughout the Academy hallways for the past two minutes. When she reached the double doors at the front of the Castle, she stopped in front of them.

"Who is it?" she called to the anonymous visitor on the other side of the oak doors, her hand resting lazily on the inside knob.

"Uhm…It's me, Ms. Hardbroom," Dr. Grisham's familiar, confused voice answered, "I'm sorry I'm several minutes late."

Constance curled her fists into tight balls. _That little, meddling_ _ **savage**_ _._ She wrenched the front door open furiously, and beckoned the shivering physician inside.

"Ms. Hardbroom?" he asked tentatively, brushing snowflakes off the shoulders of his tweed coat, "is everything alright?"

She pinched the bridge of her nose and shook her head. "I was not expecting you," she said through gritted teeth, and eyed the champagne bottle he had cradled in his left arm, "but I suppose that you assumed I would be."

The physician was at a loss. She looked positively irate, and all he'd done was respond to an invitation. "But you sent me a letter-"

" _I_ did not send you a letter!" Constance abruptly cut him off, " _I_ am not the only one in this Castle that is capable of writing!"

"Ohh," he said slowly, as realization dawned.

Constance tapped her foot angrily, waiting for him to become enraged at the fact that he had been duped by a thirteen year-old. Much to her frustration, an amused smile spread across his face. "Well, her hearts in the right place at least," he commented with a slight chuckle.

"It has nothing to do with _heart_!" Constance shrieked, "it has everything to do with _manipulation_! She feels humiliated, and wants to humiliate _us_ in turn! The nerve of that girl, I swear I-"

"I understand that you feel disrespected," Dr. Grisham interjected, "but I hardly think she set this up because she simply wanted to play a trick on us for her amusement."

Constance said nothing; not because she agreed, but because she knew that expressing her desire to strangle an abused child to said child's doctor was probably not the best of decisions.

"Ms. Hardbroom" Dr. Grisham continued, "I really don't think it was malicious on her part. Perhaps she thought she was setting us up for something… _enjoyable?_

Constance folded her arms across her chest, and gripped her elbows with her hands. "I suppose she did implicate to me that she thought I would enjoy your company on New Years Eve," she muttered sullenly, glaring at the floor.

"Was she correct?" he blurted out, before he could stop himself.

Constance felt an unwelcome fluttering behind her ribcage. " _That,_ " she bit out, much less venomously than she intended, "is a _monstrously_ inappropriate question to ask."

Dr. Grisham knew he should feel some shame given the circumstances; but all he managed to feel was elation in response to the fact that _she hadn't said_ _ **no**_ _._ He shifted the champagne bottle to his right hand, unsure of what to say next.

Constance gave him a once-over, and broke the silence. "Since you are already here, I _suppose_ it would be acceptable for you to stay for dinner."

Dr. Grisham looked up at her, crystal blue eyes sparkling in the torchlight. "Thank you, Ms. Hardbroom," he said, nodding humbly.

As reserved as he was attempting to be, Constance could sense his heightened spirits. As much as they infuriated her, they also served as tools she could use to rationalize his continued presence for the evening. _What a maddeningly strange emotional dichotomy._ "Come along then," she said hotly, antagonized by her own excitement, "our meal should be ready shortly

"Of course, Ms. Hardbroom." Dr. Grisham followed her down the hallway, smiling.

 **06:03pm**

"Dr. _Grisham!_ " Mildred said in mock-surprise as she strolled into the dining hall. "I was not expecting-"

"You most certainly were _expecting_ him," Constance snarled.

Mildred saw a rather prominent vein on her potions mistress' forehead pulse, and swallowed. She knew the woman across from her would never harm her, but that did not make the Hardbroom Glare any less intimidating.

"I-I'm sorry if I angered you-"

" _If_ you angered me?!" Constance yelled, "you _impersonated_ me, you _forged_ my signature, _and_ you convinced Dr. Grisham that he was receiving correspondence from me! In situations more grave, those sorts of shenanigans could get you _arrested_!"

Mildred's cheeks reddened. The sharpness of the woman's tone and the piercing intensity of her eyes struck her painfully. The pain was not born of fear, nor of uncertainty; it was born of a bruise to her ego, a bruise formed by the knowledge that she had worried someone that cared for her.

"Look, I didn't _mean_ to insult you," Mildred said remorsefully, rubbing her clammy hands together, "I just thought you'd want some company that wasn't just me on the holiday."

"That is _not_ something for you to determine!" Constance exclaimed, "nor am I particularly insulted by your gesture. I am livid that you would take an action that has the potential to land you in an immense amount of trouble, and didn't think _twice_ about protecting yourself from the consequences of your own actions!"

The older witches' face was so flushed with emotion Mildred took a small step backwards. She did not know how to deal with being scolded; most adults in her life responded to her self-destructiveness with nonchalance or pitying sighs…but _never_ anger.

"If consequences come, I can deal with them," the young witch murmured. _I always have._

"You are _immensely_ weaker than you think you are," Constance hissed scathingly, "and for you to even suggest that you can take care of yourself is evidence that most of your actions are driven by nothing more than adolescent _stupidity._ "

Mildred felt a small amount of indignation stir in the pit of her stomach, but resisted letting it pour out of her mouth. Normally, if she felt that an authority figure sought to reprimand her in the slightest, she would lash out so harshly that said figure would feel it a hopeless endeavor to attempt to reprimand her again. But the fact that this was Constance Hardbroom gave her slight pause.

"Nothing to say now, Mildred Hubble? Does your witty tongue need a rest period?" Constance bit out, her anxiety heightening, "Or are you simply biding your time until you can run away to your room and plot your _next_ self-endangering scheme?"

She sounded like a hysterical mother…a _wounded_ mother; disappointed in her daughter. Mildred floundered, her feet rooted to the floor.

"Are you completely blind to your own _limitations_?" Constance asked, the fury in her tone dying out to reveal something akin to desperation.

Mildred forced herself to look the older witch in the eye; she forced herself to accept her punishing words, and the shame that accompanied them. "No, Miss."

Constance let out a deep, shuddering breath. Her lungs hurt. Her heart hurt.

"I'm sorry, Miss," Mildred whispered, trying like hell to convey her remorse through her expression. She hated to admit that she was wrong; but she hated the thought of pushing Constance away even more.

"You should be," Constances' insult was softened by the hand she placed on Mildred's shoulder. It was almost too much for the young witch; being cared for despite her disobedience, being disciplined out of love rather than malice.

Constance looked over at Dr. Grisham, who had remained silent throughout their entire exchange. He nodded at her as if to say, ' _you handled that correctly. You handled **her** correctly_.'

The potions mistress gave Mildred's shoulder what she hoped was a reassuring squeeze. _I will still be here for you, no matter how angry I get._

Mildred's eyes flashed to meet Constance's. _I know._

 **10:17pm**

"Do you intend on opening that?" Constance asked Dr. Grisham, eying the champagne bottle he had set on the coffee table besides the game of Witching Monopoly they had been playing with Mildred for the last hour.

"At some point, yes," he answered, "but if you are uncomfortable with that, I'll refrain."

"Oh, don't refrain," Mildred jumped in, "you _both_ could use a bit of letting loose in your lives."

" _Mildred,_ " Constance warned, silently condemning the physician for snorting openly at the young witches' joke.

"Sorry, _sorry_ ," she mumbled, and rolled the two dice in her hands. "Six, alright then."

Mildred moved her game piece (a small silver broom) six places. Constance watched her with a predatory grin, rubbing her hands together delightfully when she landed on 'Palacial Potions Avenue', a game property she owned and had bought several hotels on.

Mildred groaned loudly. "That," Constance said smugly, holding her hand out to her student expectantly, "will be 1200 pounds, please."

 **11:08pm**

Constance rarely drank, but the bubbles in Dr. Grisham's champagne flute looked more enticing by the second. Furthermore, she had more than enough reasons to justify needing a drink. _Much more valid reasons than my father ever did; he_ _ **needed**_ _a drink every time he stubbed his toe. Which usually happened once a day._

"Doctor?"

The physician started at the timidity of her voice. "Yes, Con-" _Stop, the drink is getting to your head you dolt._ "Yes, Ms. Hardbroom?"

"Please pour me a glass of that," Constance requested, puffing up her chest. She was prepared to challenge any protests he might have against her deciding to partake, even though the likelihood of him protesting was practically non-existent, considering he _brought the damn alcohol_.

"Of course!" he obliged enthusiastically, and retrieved a champagne glass from his medical bag.

Constance raised an eyebrow in amusement. _And_ _ **I**_ _was worried about seeming like the lush here._

"Uh, Miss?" Mildred piped up from her sitting position on the floor.

"Hmm?" Constance queried absently, transfixed by the drink Dr. Grisham had began to pour.

"Do you think…" Mildred nervously organized the contents of the trios' finished game of Witching Monopoly in its respective box, "maybe I could have some?"

Dr. Grisham and Constance snorted in unison.

"Absolutely not," the potions mistress said definitively, taking the glass the physician held out to her.

Before Mildred could open her mouth to protest, Constance cut her off. "Nice try, Mildred. But save your breath. Regardless of what you plan to say about this issue now or in the future, my answer will still be no."

The young witch huffed.

Constance smirked, and brought the glass of champagne to her lips.

 **11:36pm**

Mildred lost herself in the breathtaking view of the castle courtyard, bordered by the expanse of snow-capped pine trees that seemed to stretch for miles. The clear night sky was packed with thousands of glittering stars, their light illuminating the three figures that admired the scenery from the balcony that opened up from the top floor of Cackles Academy.

"Mildred, how are you liking _Mizz_ Molyneux?"

The young witch turned to the source of the slightly slurred voice. "She has good intentions," she said to Dr. Grisham.

"Right, but how are _you_ liking her?" the physician pressed, urging her to join him in the alcohol-induced camaraderie he was feeling.

Mildred's eyes darkened. "Her _people_ ruin everything. And that's all I'm going to say."

Dr. Grisham clammed up after that, not wanting to subject himself to another life-threatening event catalyzed by her unpredictable, magical eruptions.

Ms. Hardbroom, however, did not share his fear.

"It might do you well, my dear," she in a chipper tone, draining her second glass of champagne, "to trust those who want to help you. It can be very painful to live your whole life shutting all the good people out. Don't make my mistakes." The potions mistress attempted several times to set her empty flute on the balcony edge, but it was clear that her blurred vision prevented her from accomplishing her goal.

"Uh-huh," Mildred said dryly, and took the glass from Constance's hand. She set it down on the small table beside her, right next to the half-empty champagne bottle. "I'm think I'm ready to go to bed," she informed the two adults, forcing out a yawn.

Constance furrowed her brow. "But didn't you want to see the fireworks, Mildred?"

"I did," Mildred replied, averting her eyes. _But I_ _ **really**_ _don't want to watch the two of you get sloshed, unless I'm allowed to as well._ "But I'm too exhausted to stay awake another moment."

Constance clumsily caught her on her shoulder as she turned away. Mildred violently flinched out of her drunken grasp. Constance recoiled her hand immediately, as if she had been burned.

"I'm alright, Miss," Mildred said coldly, her eyes challenging Constance to argue with her. _She won't win if she does, she doesn't have the damn_ _ **capacity**_ _at the moment._

"If you say so," Constance said doubtfully. Her student bid them both a 'goodnight' nod, and disappeared into the Castle.

Constance stared at the sliding glass door that Mildred had just left through, the fuzziness in her brain not allowing her to comprehend what had just happened. Beside her, the flick of a lighter startled her out of her confused daze. She turned to discover the man next to her taking a long, slow drag of a cigarette.

"Aren't you 'sposed to be a doctor?" the potions mistress questioned him.

"Mmmhmm" he responded, and blew out a cloud of smoke. "Only when I'm sober, Ms. Hardbroom."

"Oh, give me that," Constance reached for the cigarette, which he handed to her with a look of surprise.

After satisfactorily filling and emptying her lungs with and of tobacco smoke, she explained herself. "I smoked a lot in college. I quit ten years ago, but the smell of a freshly lit cigarette is always a temptation."

 _As much of a temptation as you are?_ Dr. Grisham thought helplessly, taking the smoke back from her offering hand.

There was a pregnant pause.

"Do you think Mildred's a racist?" Constance implored, her forehead creased with confusion.

The question had caught Dr. Grisham mid-inhale, and his urge to laugh caused him to swallow, rather than inhale smoke, resulting in an intense coughing fit.

"W-what? Mildred, a _racist?_ Whatever made you think _that?_ " the physician spluttered when he had regained his composure enough to speak.

"Well, she said that Mrs. Molyneux's _people_ ruin everything," Constance explained, "and that woman is French, is she not?"

"Ohh," Dr. Grisham replied, "I think- I think she meant that _therapists_ , or _head shrinks_ , if you will, ruin everything."

"Aha!" Constance giggled, shaking her head. "I can't believe that I thought-" she snorted, "how _ridiculous_ of me."

Dr. Grisham grinned. _She looks beautiful when she laughs._

"Oh well," Constance said, leaning back on the balcony exaggeratedly, "it was probably my upbringing. My father used to call the French ' _cheese-eating surrender monkeys_ '".

Dr. Grisham snorted loudly before he could stop himself, then composed his face to what he hope conveyed a grave expression. "That is vile, Constance. So vile."

"Eh," she shrugged, waving her hand lazily, " _everything_ about my father was vile." The potions mistress nearly clamped her hand down over her mouth once she realized how much she'd unwittingly confessed. Sensing that the physician was waiting for her to elaborate, she aimed to change the subject.

"So we _shouldn't_ inform her that Mildred has the potential to reduce St. Aumars to smithereens?" Constance asked pointedly.

Dr. Grisham opened his mouth to respond, but was silenced by an incredibly loud crack that sounded from above them. The two whipped around to face the forest. The celebratory fireworks had begun.

* * *

 **Jan 1** **st** **, 2000**

 **12:00am**

Three glowing lights traveled upwards, each transforming into bursts of technicolor light above the treetops of Mistletoe Forest. The fireworks briefly changed the color of the snow beneath them; the spider-like legs of each sparking brilliantly before cascading down towards earth.

Constance rested her elbows on the balcony railing, waiting for the next set of colors to explode across the sky. She felt a warm hand graze the small of her back. Inhibitions gone, she let out a hum of approval. Another round of fireworks sailed into the heavens, bursting into thousands of glittering turquoise and purple particles that danced among the stars.

Dr. Grisham snaked his arm around Constance's waist, and in one swift motion, turned her to face him. Her long, pale fingers met his broad shoulders.

"Happy New Years, Constance," he drawled in a low baritone that made her head swim. The physician fixed her with a look of pure adoration.

The same look of pure adoration her _father_ had drunkenly fixed all of his ex-girlfriends with mere nights before he had reduced them to bruised, sobbing messes that tearfully begged for the prince charming version of him to return.

Constance felt her blood run cold, sobering her momentarily. She would _not_ be like those women.

Dr. Grisham leaned in, intending to bring his hungry lips to hers. She flattened her palms against his shoulders, and pushed him away.

He shot her a confused look, but respected her need for space and maintained his distance.

"I'm sorry," Constance said, her voice shaking, "But I can't." _I can't let you draw me in just to hurt me. Just to **control** me. _

"That is perfectly alright, Constance," he said with forced pleasantness, burying his disappointment.

"I-I…" she stuttered, feeling her stomach heave, "I have to go."

Without another word, Constance disappeared into the Castle, leaving a very confused physician in her wake.

* * *

 _Well contempt loves the silence,_

 _It hides in the dark._

 _With fine winding tendrils that strangle the heart._

 _They say that promises sweeten the blow._

 _I don't need them,_

 _No I don't need them._

 _Cause I've been treated so wrong,_

 _I've been treated so long_

 _As if I'm becoming untouchable._

* * *

A/N: I re-edited this chapter a number of times to make sure I had realistically depicted the emotional turmoil of my two protagonists. Sorry it took so long. I wanted to post on the 30th, but I read it through and neurotically had to change a bunch of it. I get a bit overly-perfectionistic. ALSO: THIS STORY WILL NOT BE CENTERED ON ROMANCE. THE PROSPECT OF A ROMANTIC RELATIONSHIP IS JUST A LITERARY TOOL I'M USING TO EXPOSE CONSTANCES' INTIMACY ISSUES.


	12. Empty Spaces, Pt 1

_Chapter Eleven: Empty Spaces, Pt. 1_

 _A/N: My apologies, again. I have the trajectory of the plot all mapped out and I actually have my ending written; but the content of these chapters is the most important and I want to get them right. I'm posting Chapter 11 in two parts like I did Chapter 10, because I feel like I've made you guys wait long enough for this update._

* * *

 **Jan 1, 2000**

 **07:33am**

Mildred scraped her fork over the surface of her plate, taking bitter enjoyment out of the horrible screeching sound it made. Her mind felt like a raceway; filled with half-formulated, angry thoughts circulating around and around, an endless circuit in her skull.

 _She didn't sleep in my room. She didn't_ _ **even**_ _come by to say goodnight._

"Good morning, Mildred," Constance said from behind her, tiredly.

"Morning," the young witch muttered, stilling herself. _She's probably hungover and spent; her and the doctor probably had a grand time making fun of me last night._

Constance took a seat across from her, dead-eyed and exhausted.

 _She's not asking why I'm mad. She doesn't care that I'm mad._ Mildred made no move to acknowledge her teachers presence.

Constance closed her eyes against the morning sunlight that filtered in through the dining hall windows. Her head was pounding something _awful._

Mildred scowled. _Oh, so I'm non-existent now?_ _ **Fuck**_ her _!_ She violently pushed herself up from the table, knocking her plate to the ground with a swing of her arm.

Constance started, wincing at the sound of china shattering against stone. " _What the hell?_ " she hissed, opening her eyes just enough to be able to peer at Mildred resentfully.

"What the _hell?_ " the girl exploded, kicking a shard of broken plate across the floor for effect, "that's not the question _you_ should have for _me_ , is it? I should be asking you what the hell your deal is! Staying up all night, getting drunk, making _jokes_ about me?!"

Mildred felt pressure building behind her eyes with each statement, inciting her to insert more venom into her words. "You fucking _sluts_! I thought you would enjoy each other's company, not get wasted and push me out the moment you wanted to fuck each other!"

Constance blinked, her processing mechanisms slowed by the alcohol her body was still attempting to metabolize. She tried to read between the lines of Mildred's angry words, she really did, but the most she could will herself to interpret was, "IRRATIONAL AND ANGRY! BLAMING YOU FOR MY EMOTIONS!"

So Constance reacted.

"You are _delusional,_ girl!" the Potions Mistress declared spitefully, standing up, " _You_ were the one who suggested champagne in your forged letter! _You_ were the one who decided to retire early in the evening! _Just_ because you assume that everyone is out to harm you doesn't make it so!"

Mildred felt two scarlet circles form just above her cheek bones; and shrunk away from the woman towering over her. Tears formed at the corners of her eyes, and she didn't try to blink them away.

Constance stared down at her, unmoved by the younger witches' pain. _I don't want to deal with this. She attacked me with no provocation or justification. She_ _ **should**_ _feel guilty._

"I don't want to look at you," Constance said coldly. And she didn't. The way Mildred had transformed from a feral, enraged verbal abuser to a quivering, terrorized child made her seem inhuman; like a creature that could do nothing more than alternate between behaving like a predator and behaving like prey.

 _None of this is real, she's putting on so she can get away with destroying herself._

A tear spilled down Mildred's left cheek.

" **Stop** crying," Constance commanded, almost desperately. She _needed_ to invalidate the complex facets of the girl before her in order to cope with what her trauma had turned her into.

Mildred registered the disgusted tone in her teacher's voice. Shock kept her feet rooted to the floor. She choked back a sob, and tried to still her trembling chin.

Constance wanted to shake Mildred; wanted to exert violence upon her to snap her out of her descent into despair; but she knew she couldn't.

 _I'm_ _ **not**_ _Hecate._

The potions mistress had learned that to weep was a sign of weakness, weakness that would be flogged out of her until her fear of agony was paramount to her desire to cry, to express, to _feel_. She _wouldn't_ do that to Mildred, no matter how naturally the learned response came to her whenever she was forced to bear witness to a child shamelessly showcasing their intense emotions.

"Get _out_ of my sight!" Constance yelled, her hands balling into fists in a furious attempt to keep them to herself.

Mildred made no attempt to move, the terror in her eyes making Constance feel wretched, disturbed, _unhinged_.

"MOVE!" the Potions Mistress screamed.

 _Leave before I can't stop myself from beating the sensitivity out of you._

Mildred jolted with alarm. She had hair-trigger sensitivity for potentially dangerous situations, and the teacher standing over her was so enraged that she could almost feel the air between them pulse. Her eyes dried of their own accord, and she fled from the dining hall as fast as her feet would allow.

 **08:01am**

With every crunching step she took, the bottom of Mildred's hobnail boots left a patterned footprint on the snow that blanketed the ground. She looked up, and was momentarily dazed by the patch of bright blue sky above her; encircled by dark green pine tree tips.

Mildred didn't know how deep she'd wandered into Mistletoe Forest; and she didn't particularly care. She needed, at the time, to be surrounded by silent life forms; things content in simply existing, not fighting; things breathing, never judging.

She gathered a handful of snow off of the arm of a nearby pine, and threw it up in the air before it could soak through her mittens. She stood below the flakes as they fell back down to earth and spun around; dancing inside the cascade.

Mildred drew in a slow breath, allowing the frigid air to sit in her lungs as long as she could stand it. She exhaled, focusing on the cloud that escaped her mouth to achieve escape from her thoughts.

It didn't come.

" _Dammit_ ," she cursed, digging the heel of her boot into the ground, exasperated that she could not manage to tame her mind with the same efficacy as she had tamed her emotions.

Standing in the midst of a frozen forest, she was overcome with flashes of memories that were too incapacitating to process as whole. Indifferently, she watched as many differently aged versions of herself were violated in one way or another. Mildred felt an eerie sense of calm, as if she was watching a poorly edited film starring characters that she had no investment in.

Except for one.

A potent, cold rage seeped through the young witch every time the stoic form mistress appeared in her memory. The woman who had, up until recently, made it her personal mission to exert tyrannical control over Mildred at every opportunity.

 _Ms. Hardbroom_ had felt a sense of power when she bullied Mildred during her first year. _Ms. Hardbroom_ had thought she was so good at pushing her buttons.

Currently, _Ms. Hardbroom_ had an idea of what sort of havoc had been wreaked upon her. _Ms. Hardbroom_ knew that Mildred's mother had branded her and tortured her with distorted maternal affection.

Ms. Hardbroom _didn't_ know about the look of pure adoration that Mildred's father had fixed upon her every time he thrust into her, warm blood staining the sheets beneath. She didn't know that as a child, Mildred's eyes only filled with tears when she struggled to accommodate her father in her throat without gagging, or to not bite his sensitive flesh lest he beat her after he raped her.

Mildred smirked, her dry lips cracking. Ms. Hardbroom thought _she_ could make her cry?

Ms. Hardbroom had _no idea._

 **10:47pm**

Hesitant knocking on her dormitory door jolted Mildred from the edge of sleep. After coming to from her semi-conscious state, she considered her situation. She knew that there was only one possible person who could be on the other side of that door.

 _Unless it's my years-too-late fairy godmother, but that's not very bloody likely._

Mildred lay still, contemplating whether or not to simply pretend that she was asleep. Figuring that Constance would just materialize herself into her room eventually, she chose the path of least resistance.

"You can come in," Mildred called out sullenly, twisting her bedsheets around her fingers. She felt like a small, anxious ping-pong ball was bouncing to and fro inside of her stomach.

Ms. Hardbroom carefully pushed her door open, and Mildred hated her heart for skipping a beat.

The two witches casted sidelong glances at each other, neither saying a word at first. Determined not to lose, Mildred simply arched an eyebrow and crossed her arms across her chest; a mockery of Constance's infamous defensive posture.

Constance didn't take the bait. She had considered starting with an apology, but instead chose a different tactic. "Mildred, you don't have to be afraid."

"Ha!" Mildred exclaimed, the pitch of her voice just high enough to convey her nervousness, "as if you could frighten me."

" _Mildred_ ," Constance half-groaned, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose in frustration, "I can _tell_ when you are frightened."

"Uh-huh," Mildred replied flatly, and rolled her eyes. "You don't see me cowering away from you, do you? Covering my face? Withdrawing from your advances?"

"You do those things when you're afraid that someone will strike you," Constance replied, "what you're fearing now is something…different."

"You're full of shit" Mildred rebuked, her bottom lip protruding to form a pout.

"So are you," Constance deadpanned.

Mildred huffed. "Is that why you came in here?" she hissed, eyes narrowed. "To point out all the weaknesses you see? To mock me for whinging like a child this morning? It's not going to work."

"I'm _not!_ " Constance exclaimed theatrically, throwing her head back. When Mildred didn't say anything, the older woman turned her back to her; if only to gather her bearings for a moment.

The young witch watched the way Constance's shoulder blades moved in tandem with her breathing; puzzled at her form mistress' behavior.

Mildred opened her mouth to speak after a minute or so, but Constance beat her to the punch.

"Mildred," the older woman said, swallowing thickly, "I simply came here to apologize."

The teen studied the stiffness of Constances' spine, and the tightness with which she splayed her fingers against her velvet-clad thighs.

"For what?" Mildred implored, the edge in her voice easing.

"For being so terse and dismissive when you were clearly in pain," Constance said quickly, still facing the door. She cursed herself for not being able to express her remorse directly, but made no move to turn around and face Mildred.

Mildred bit her lower lip, her mind drawing a blank. For all she was expecting her Potions Mistress to say, it was certainly _not_ sorry.

"Uhm," the teen murmured, "I was being sort of an ass to you anyways. If I remember correctly, I _started_ it."

Constance forced herself to spin around.

"Just because you started it," the older woman said in a strained voice, "doesn't mean I have to _finish_ it."

Mildred shrugged her shoulders, tucking a strand of ratted hair behind her left ear. "Well nobody's perfect."

"Despite that," Constance insisted, feeling her chest constrict uncomfortably, "I should have controlled myself…I should have acted more…I should have responded _appropriately_."

Mildred's mouth went dry. Constance had her eyes shut, grimacing in self-reproach. Mildred felt disgusted, _sickened_ with herself that Ms. Hardbroom was bothering to pain herself over something as _menial_ as how she had spoken to her.

"I was being an ass," Mildred repeated, battling her nausea, "you responded fine."

Constance's eyes flashed open.

"You have the _right_ to be an ass!" the older woman cried, throwing her hands skyward.

Mildred froze on her bed, all words she was thinking of saying dying in her throat.

"Do you hear me?" Constance demanded, eyes gleaming.

When Mildred said nothing, Constance continued, "You have the _right_ to be an ass, or a brat, or a bloody mischievous imp without incurring a disproportionate punishment for it!"

" _Spare_ me," Mildred groaned, "go find someone _else_ to fix so you don't feel so badly about your life's mistakes."

Constance's fury sparked for a millisecond, but she crushed it before it grew into a raging flame.

"I'm not going to play that game, Mildred," the older woman said firmly, resting her hands on her hips.

"Why not?" Mildred grumbled, looking down at her hands, "I give as good as I get."

 _I deserve your rage. I deserve your wrath._

"You are a _child_!" Constance declared, "children are not to be punished as though they are adults! They… _you_ don't have enough understanding to incur an eye-for-an-eye punishment!"

 _You don't deserve to be hurt. You don't deserve to bear my burdens._

The older woman had begun to pace back and forth across the room, and watching her made Mildred feel dizzy.

"Will you stop, please?" Mildred whined, more to her vertigo than to anything else.

The older witch obliged, opting to lean her side against the end of Mildred's bed.

"Thanks," the teen muttered, pressing the heels of both palms against her forehead.

 _She's not getting the message, Constance. It's no use to try and drill it into her head._ The potions mistress silently accepted defeat, and opted to change the subject.

"Are you feeling sick?"

Mildred looked up, relieved that Constance's face had re-adopted an inscrutable expression.

"Not really," the teen offered, "I guess I was just more exhausted than I thought."

"Then sleep," Constance replied curtly, shifting her weight to attain a more comfortable position against the bedpost.

"Gee, why didn't _I_ think of that?" Mildred retorted; with much less snark than intended.

Constance shook her head bemusedly. "Get under the covers, then," she ordered.

Despite her defiant glare, Mildred felt strangely comforted by her form mistress using the 'vintage Hardbroom' tone with her. She pulled her bedsheets and comforter up to her chin, and lay her head back on her pillow.

"Satisfied?"

Constance sat on the edge of Mildred's bed, taking care to only let the mattress dip slightly under her weight. She smirked down at her young charge. "Definitely."

* * *

 **Jan. 3, 2000**

 **07:29pm**

"Evening."

From her seated position at the head dining table, Constance looked over her shoulder at Mildred. She was instantly exhausted by the teens uncertain demeanor.

 _After all I've done, she still doesn't feel safe? What more can I do?_

"Evening, Mildred," the older woman said calmly, beckoning her student to the table.

The young witch accepted Constance's invitation, and strode across the dining hall to take a seat across her.

The potions mistress uttered a swift incantation that lifted the warming charm from Mildred's plate of food. No matter how callous Constance had become over the years, she never ceased to be perturbed by the wide-eyed gratitude in Mildred's eyes in response to any sort of considerate gesture.

Mildred's flicked her eyes up at Constance, and averted them with unimaginable swiftness. "Thanks."

"No need to thank me," the older woman remarked, fervently seeking to conceal how the teen's chronic self-defeat irritated her already frayed nerves.

Mildred shrugged and began to eat her food, chewing it in a way that seemed almost reluctant.

When Constance had filled her stomach to capacity, she pushed her plate away with a bit more force than necessary, hoping to get Mildred's attention. When that didn't work, she cleared her throat, and the teen looked up at her.

"Your peers are returning in two days," Constance said matter-of-factly, holding her gaze steady, "do you think you are ready for that?"

Mildred shrugged again. "I've been thinking about it. I mean, it might overwhelm me a bit. But it will probably be good for me to get into a fairly normal routine."

"Mmm," Constance acknowledged, studying the younger witches' face. "Do your friends…are they _aware_ of your ordeal?"

Mildred shifted uncomfortably in her chair. "They know I've been taken out of my home," she said flatly.

Constance didn't need to use advanced magic to read in between Mildred's words. _But they don't know anything else._ She considered encouraging Mildred to speak to her comrades about her ordeal; but after several moments of silent deliberation she thought better of it. Constance knew better than anyone else how strong the drive to hide pain could be; _especially_ from those whom she was closest to.

"I am not trying to push you in any direction," she said candidly, unfolding her arms in a gesture of openness, "but I am _encouraging_ you to be prepared for the questions they will likely ask when you leave the Academy three times a week to see the Mind Healer."

Mildred suppressed a smirk. _Ms. Hardbroom doesn't give me enough credit. I already have that lie planned out._

"I appreciate that," the teen said with a lightheartedness Constance was not expecting, "and I'll definitely take care of it."

The potions mistress was torn between probing further and letting sleeping dogs lie. She made a deal with herself that she'd only mention one last thing.

"Mildred," she said seriously, leaning forward slightly, "Dr. Grisham will be here at least once a week to fetch you for your appointments. Your friends _will_ question who he is."

The young witch nodded her head emphatically. "I _know_ , alright? Like I said, I'll take care of it."

"Alright, Mildred. I'll leave it alone," Constance said, biting the inside of her cheek. "For _now_."

Mildred rolled her eyes and sighed dramatically. Constance had to stop herself from mirroring the young witch. She often balked at the arrogance and short-term memory that seemed to characterize the majority of the teenagers she encountered. Mere _seconds_ after making stupid decisions, they demanded more freedom; completely lost as to why adults couldn't _trust their judgment_.

Mildred arched her back and yawned. "Maybe," she said smugly, a playful glint in her eyes, "I could just tell them Dr. Grisham is your _boyfriend_."

 **10:42pm**

Constance turned onto her stomach, opening her mouth to bite down onto her pillow. Then she screamed several times. The effort she put behind her angry expulsions was so strong that both her diaphragm and flank muscles ached when she finished. She turned herself onto her back in one swift, frustrated movement, glaring murderously up at the ceiling.

Constance was enraged at the number of people who seemed to think it was just _adorable_ that a man had taken interest in her. Her protectiveness of Mildred notwithstanding, she'd felt the urge to knock the girl to the ground when she made sly implications regarding the relationship between her and Dr. Grisham.

 _Why can't all these star-struck imbeciles resist from imposing their fantasies on me? I am not interested in what Dr. Grisham has to offer, he is a_ _ **man.**_ Constance squeezed her eyes shut and let out a low growl.

 _All men are narcissistic, self-aggrandizing children. They are content in spelling a woman with the lie of 'love' to satisfy their transient carnal desires. They are worse than wild animals; wild animals only act without conscience because they do not_ _ **possess**_ _one._ _ **Men**_ _have no excuse._

Some part of her knew that she wasn't being fair; painting an entire gender with such a broad stroke. That tiny spark of rationality, however, was buried under an automatic, deep-seated mistrust of all who wanted her sexually. As a woman who had arguably won the genetic lottery in attractiveness; she chose to not utilize it in her favor.

Since the age of twenty-five, Constances' knee-jerk reaction to attentions from any man had been utter disgust. For the better part of the last two decades she had withheld, from herself and men, any form of gratification.

Even if she met a man who was intellectually challenging and considerably kind; the mere thought of giving into his carnal desires filled her with such outrage that she cut off contact the minute she sensed their eyes travelling any further south than her collarbone.

And Dr. Grisham. _Dr. Grisham_.

 _What a picture-perfect professional, giving off such an_ _ **aura**_ _of intelligence and charitability._

Constance scowled.

 _With one piece missing in his life, a_ _ **woman**_ _. What a surprise. I suspect that he can't find any that will live up to his biologically-driven expectations. The ones that he wants to fuck are too dense, and the ones that are smart enough he doesn't want to fuck._

Constance turned on her side, drawing her knees to her chest as her ire intensified. _I can see him now, stripping off my gown, not anticipating how disappointed he would be with my nakedness. His face would inevitably fall, and he'd try to conceal it by closing his eyes, then pulling me close. He'd run his hands down my sides, grading my curves. He'd squeeze my flesh, testing it for ripeness._

Constance grimaced, clenching her fists so tightly that the tips of her fingers turned numb.

 _The_ _ **doctor**_ _would lose all of his scholarly composure as he'd harden against me. He'd feel proud that his body had brought life to a form of approval he'd think I want to feel. Testosterone levels would peak, and he'd throw me down on the bed, pinning me there with force he'd want to crush me with. He'd stare deeply into my eyes to foster an intimacy, a_ _ **bond**_ _that will ensure he can fuck me again whenever he wants._

 _Then he'd be inside me, wrapped in my warmth, deluding himself into believing that he'd be in control. He'd change his position, his angle, his pace, not satisfied until I moan. But no matter how much pleasure he'd think he elicited, no matter how close he'd think he'd get to breaking me, there is one fact that he would remain blissfully unaware of: the deeper he'd go, the more shallow the encounter would become._

Constance wrapped her linens tightly around her body. She couldn't tell if it was despair or twisted arousal that was causing her to tremble, but she made no attempt to stop it.

* * *

 _A/N: Up next, the faculty and students return to Cackles._


	13. Empty Spaces, Pt 2

_Note: I do apologize for the period of time that has elapsed between my last upload and this. Part of it was wanting to write this well, and focusing on minutia to the point of madness. Part of it was writers block. Part of it was life; the last semester of nursing school has been incredibly time-consuming. I wanted you all to know I didn't forget about this, about you. And this story WILL be completed._

 _Chapter Eleven: Empty Spaces, Pt. 2_

 **Jan 4** **th** **, 2000**

 **10:32am**

The inevitable arrival of Davina Bat, Amelia Cackles, and Imogen Drill caused Constance more anxiety than she would ever admit. She stood just outside the entrance of Cackles Academy, watching two sailing block dots in the sky grow larger. A gust of winter wind blew, and it's all-consuming, painful frigidity caused her to wince. She hugged the cloak wrapped around her body closer to herself.

Within several minutes, three Cackles faculty members descended onto the snow-covered ground about twenty feet from where the Potions Mistress stood. They dismounted the two brooms they had used for transport. Constance released her tongue from the vice-like grip of her teeth, tasting metallic. She straightened her shoulders as her colleagues approached, squashing the foreboding she felt.

Imogen reached her first, her face beet red, her breathing labored as though she had just run a marathon. Before Constance could utter a greeting, her fellow instructor had wrapped her in a bone-crushing hug. The older woman drew in her breath sharply, and bit back the scathing remark that had almost reflexively escaped her lips. She simply stilled in Imogen's embrace, and reached her arm around to stiffly pat the other woman's back.

"It's good to see you, Constance!" Imogen exclaimed, releasing her.

"That sentiment is appreciated," Constance drawled, "and reciprocated."

Imogen chuckled, and shook her head as if to say, _coming from_ _ **you,**_ _that's practically a marriage proposal._

Constance ignored the other woman's cheekiness, to meet Amelia's scrutinizing gaze. The Headmistress smiled at her tightly, causing her stomach to twinge with guilt. "Hello, Constance," she greeted carefully, "I trust your holiday went well."

The Potions Mistress' throat went dry, feeling very much like a schoolchild about to receive a well-deserved scolding. She studied a piece of lint on her superiors coat with intent. "Yes, Amelia. We have much to discuss."

"That we do," came the curt reply.

 _Idiot, idiot, idiot._ "I…" Constance began, hoping the chilling air would calm the flames that had risen in her cheeks, "apologize for not sending you updates by post _._ " Her eyes flitted to Amelia's left, and settled uncomfortably on Davina's cowed form. "And to you, Davina," she forced out, "for conducting myself so unprofessionally towards you several weeks ago."

Davina's eyes widened in surprise, potentiating the ever-present eccentricity of her facial expression. "I.." she spluttered, "a-appreciate that…C-constance…"

Constance had to force herself to look away, disgusted at the amount of gratitude the other woman displayed in response to her pitiful excuse for an apology.

A high-pitched _whoosh_ from overhead interrupted the tense interaction. The three women looked upwards, and were greeted by the sight of dozens of approaching figures flying towards the castle. The students had returned.

* * *

 **11:45am**

Mildred, Enid, and Maud were packed like sardines between their excited, chattering peers at the large table in the dining hall.

"I'm so happy to see you again," Maud exclaimed. Her arm was tucked in the crook of Mildred's elbow. Mildred looked down at her beaming friend. She would never cease to be put off by how excited, someone, _anyone_ was to see _her._

"I'm glad too, Maud," she said, smiling warmly. "Could you let go of my arm though? You're cutting off my circulation, and I kind of need it to eat lunch." Maud let out a breathy laugh, and released her.

"Yeah, if lunch ever _arrives_ ," Enid complained good-naturedly, gesturing at their empty plates.

"It is taking longer than usual to get here," Maud acknowledged in her typical, analytical way.

"Meh, it's the start of term," Mildred replied with a shrug, "I'm sure it'll be along."

"Mildred," Maud said in a suddenly serious tone, "you made sure to eat enough over the holiday, didn't you?" She touched her shoulder lightly, her concern-filled eyes owlish behind her glasses.

Mildred felt instantly guilty. "Yes, Maud."

"C,mon Maud," Enid interjected, nudging her playfully, "she had to. She wouldn't have had the energy to run from Hardbroom otherwise."

 _Ah, Enid. Always the comic relief._

"Oh, stop it!" Maud scolded, crossing her arms, "she might not be the kindest woman, but she would never endanger a student."

"And to be completely fair," Mildred added, "I only ran from her twice. She must have stocked up on infant blood before Christmas."

Maud's face paled. Enid snickered.

"I mean, I was really scared when she caught me the first time," Mildred continued her joke, "but she only bled me for two minutes. Apparently it doesn't take much."

"You two are awful sometimes!" Maud snapped, and shook her head so her pigtails swished back and forth.

"Maud, do your parents let you laugh at _anything? Ever?_ " Enid teased.

"I'll have you know my parents have instilled me with a very good sense of humor," she replied haughtily, "I simply refuse to find amusement at someone else's expense."

Mildred rolled her eyes so only Enid could see, and shrugged her shoulders. Before more could be said, a sudden pop! signaled the arrival of lunch. The three girls eagerly dug into the food that had appeared on the table before them, and didn't resume their conversation until they were about half a plate in.

"So," Mildred said casually, "how was your break, Maud?"

"Mmmpf," she grunted, then swallowed a mouthful of egg salad, "it was delightful! Mum and Dad took me to my grandparents house. We played games and tried to avoid discussing any recent political developments. Then I helped my little cousins build snowmen. They were so excited!"

"That sounds great," Mildred forced herself to say, snuffing out the jealousy that had sparked in her chest, "and how was your holiday, Enid?"

"It was fine," the raven-haired girl replied indifferently, "Mum and I went to London. We toured the areas of the city with the most grandiose decorations. She _insisted_ that we join this group of door-to-door Christmas carolers that we came across. I didn't mind that too much after a while, though. I only mouthed the lyrics to the songs."

"How festive!" Maud cried.

"Yeah, festive," Enid groaned, "it was so corny. But Mum really enjoyed it." She paused to fix Mildred with a measured, searching look. "How was your break _really_?"

 _Damn her._

"Honestly? It was kind of lonely," Mildred answered evenly, "you guys stopping by on Christmas Eve was the best part of the whole thing."

 _Oh, and I also found out I can bring down trees and expel my memories with the force of my magic, no biggie._

Her two friends looked at her expectantly. "I did write to my Mum and Dad," she continued, "but it took them a few days to write back."

"Oh, Mildred," Maud said sadly, laying her hand on her knee, "you must have missed them so much."

 _As fucking if._

"I did," she lied, hoping her expression appeared sufficiently wistful, "but I know I'll get to see them soon."

"Seriously though," Enid said, the playful edges gone from her voice, "Hardbroom didn't give you any unnecessary shit, did she?"

Her brazen friend narrowed her eyes at their Potions Mistress, sitting as stoic as ever at the Head Table. "Because if she did, knowing all that you're going through, I swear to fucking god I'll-"

"Enid," Mildred interrupted her, "don't polish your knives just yet. She was remarkably… _restrained_ over break."

"It was probably because her blood supply ran out," Enid muttered, her green eyes blazing.

Mildred felt both touched and ashamed by her friends protectiveness. Enid would be so hurt if she found out that Mildred had disclosed the true nature of her situation to _Constance Hardbroom_ before her friends. While Mildred was dispirited enough that her Potions Mistress had seen the most awful, intimate memories she had, she felt absolute _terror_ at the prospect of someone that _actually gave a damn about her_ discovering the truth.

" _Enid_ , whatever is wrong?" Maud inquired. She sounded shocked.

When she looked up, Mildred quickly understood why.

A single tear had spilled down Enid's left cheek. Mildred and Maud exchanged worried glances. They had only seen Enid cry _once_ in all the years they'd known her.

Enid scrubbed at her face furiously. "I don't want to see that _bitch_ hurt you again," she snarled, "the way she's treated you, the way she's always treated you has been awful. But for her to carry on as she did, when you were dealing with the loss of your family…" she paused to stare up at the ceiling and set her jaw.

"I've never seen you more upset than you were that day in class when you screamed at her. You had no defense, no trace of the normal happy-go-lucky attitude that has gotten you through her abuse before. It was like she broke you, Mildred. And if she does it again, if she even _thinks_ to do it again, _I'll_ fucking break _her._ "

Mildred opened and closed her mouth several times. Enid's chest was heaving, her eyes were alight with venom, and her rant had managed to catch the attention of several girls sitting nearby.

"Enid," Maud whispered. She placed her hand on her friend's back tentatively, as if she was trying to avoid waking a dragon.

Enid came back to herself, and let her shoulders fall. She blinked several times to remove the remaining wetness from her eyes, and cracked a small, miserable smile.

"I'm sorry, guys," she said in a raspy, croaking voice.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," Mildred insisted, sounding so much like her old, confident self for a moment, "you just care about me. And it means so much, it really does."

Without warning, Enid leaned forward and embraced her. Mildred returned the hug in earnest.

"I love you," Enid muttered against her chest. At those words, Mildred had the fleeting urge to break down into incomprehensible sobs in her friends arms, the spectators surrounding them be damned.

The urge passed.

The sudden intimacy began to suffocate her.

"I love you too, Enid," Mildred said gently. When Enid pulled away, she felt the strangest mix of relief and disappointment.

She didn't dwell on those emotions for long.

* * *

 **12:18pm**

Constance fought to hold the Headmistress' gaze from across her desk. She flexed the muscles in her abdomen at alternating intervals to prevent herself from engaging in a more visible display of the dread she felt.

"Constance," her superior addressed her, "I need to know why you didn't owl me at once when you discovered Mildred's condition had worsened."

"I didn't…." the Potions Mistress responded, "I didn't _purposefully_ intend to withhold information from you."

"That does not answer my question," Amelia replied. The icy detachment in her voice at that moment, Constance decided, was capable of inspiring more fear in her than being held at spell point by an enraged Agatha Cackles ever could.

"I was not thinking clearly," the younger woman uttered softly, "I was not thinking at all. What I saw- what I discovered in regards to Mild- Ms. Hubble's history…It was.."

Constance wrung her hands. Her eyes were positively _burning_.

"I was disturbed, and let it cloud my judgment. I shirked my duties," the Potions Mistress said with self-reproach, "I contacted the physician. And did little else. I accept full responsibility for my actions."

Amelia was silent. Her expression had warmed by only a fraction.

Constance felt jarred, sharp fragments of long-buried memories cutting across her mind.

 _Hecate looked at her coldly, then slapped her across the face with such force that the tears on her cheeks flew off_ …

 _Her father looked down dispassionately at the girlfriend he had just knocked to the floor. He shrugged his shoulders, and walked away, leaving the unconscious woman lying in a pool of blood in the hallway…_

"Amelia," she said thickly, trying desperately to stave off the alarm rising in her chest, "I contacted the Doctor, I _did_ try. I was not completely ineffective in my handling of the situation. I did not mean to leave you in the dark."

It took an unprecedented amount of effort to battle the instinct to break eye contact with the Headmistress. _Stop, Constance. Steel yourself. This is Amelia Cackles. Her disapproval is inconsequential. It should mean nothing to you._

Amelia, to say the least, was taken aback by her deputy's distressed demeanor. She could count on one hand the amount of times she had seen the woman across from her tormented to such a degree. The Headmistress relaxed her posture, and drummed her fingers atop the armrests of her chair for several moments before speaking.

"Constance, from what I can gather…" the older woman began, and leaned forward. At that, Constance flinched violently.

Amelia froze.

The silence was heavy then, with only two sounds that cut through it:

The first was the crack Constance's knuckles made as she clenched her fists, her heart rate sharply rising as embarrassment flooded through her.

The second was the small gasp Amelia had elicited, when she realized the implication of that flinch. For only seconds, the Headmistress hoped with fervor that she was merely disillusioned, but her hope crumbled as she concluded that there was no mistaking the fact that Constance Hardbroom was _scared._ Of _her._

To save face, the Potions Mistress wasted no time. She cleared her throat. "Headmistress," she addressed Amelia bravely, her gaze hard, "I apologize for that ridiculous and childish display of personal weakness. It has no place here."

Before her boss could interject, Constance continued, "Over the holiday, I did not meet the expectations of my position. I am willing to accept any disciplinary action you should decide to take against me for my egregious oversight."

The Headmistress was taken aback in spite of herself. Her deputy's cold, clinical words hung in the air. They meant nothing to Amelia, who was screaming on the inside.

"Constance," she said shakily, "you are aware that I would never, ever _harm_ you, correct?"

The younger woman grimaced, and she finally broke eye contact with her superior. "I am aware of that, Amelia," she muttered, hating every fiber of her own being, "I do not even remotely consider you capable of such a thing."

"You seemed to just a moment ago," Amelia deadpanned.

Constance was quiet. Before the fury coiling in her gut could rise enough to burst past her lips, she abruptly stood from her chair and left Amelia's office.

 **2:46pm**

Imogen rolled her neck from side to side, preparing herself. Without so much as a knock, she seized the handle of the door before her, and let herself into Cackles Academy's one and only Potions Classroom.

" _Excuse_ me, Imogen!" her dark-haired colleague half-roared.

"Ah, Constance," the blonde addressed her carefully, feeling guilty when she saw that the Potions Mistress had risen from her desk chair so fast that she'd knocked it over, "I'm sorry I barged in like that."

The other woman just scowled.

"Fancy a walk through the castle grounds?" Imogen tried.

"No, Imogen," Constance said through gritted teeth, "I do not. Did you need something?"

"Not in particular, I just wanted to see how you were doing. We haven't spoken since, well, since-"

"Since I called you over the holiday in distress," the Potions Mistress finished for her pointedly.

"Yes," Imogen responded sheepishly, and shifted from foot to foot, "and I sensed that since then…I suppose I sensed that our relationship had changed somewhat as a result."

"You are not incorrect."

Imogen was baffled. Which was odd, considering that the Potions Mistress' response was the one that she had been hoping _for._

" _However,_ " Constance seethed, "it has not _changed_ so much so that you can waltz _unannounced_ into my classroom whenever you fancy a chat."

The other woman's withering glare had begun to drain Imogen's energy. "I apologize, Constance. I can come back later, if you wish."

"Seeing as you are already here, that is not necessary."

Imogen wet her lips nervously. "Ohhhkay then. Uhm…following Christmas Eve, how was the rest of your holiday?"

"Eventful," came the one word, clipped response.

"Oh?"

"Yes, it was…" Constance visibly relaxed, her defenses falling slightly, "intense. Distressing, to say the least. However…Well, without disclosing too much to you…I believe Mildred's life is headed in a more positive direction."

"Amelia told me that Dr. Grisham had contacted her regarding Mildred. I knew there were developments, but no details," Imogen furrowed her brow. "I'm relieved to hear that they were _good_ developments."

Constance snorted bitterly, and sunk down into her desk chair. "It's up to her now. I can't say that what I know is anything that can be reasonably defined as _good_."

"What do you mean?" Trying not to press for more information was proving monumentally difficult for Imogen.

The Potions Mistress closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. "I find the possibility of her recovery highly unlikely, based on what I know. Her resilience _is_ impressive…I just simply do not see _any_ person being able to heal from the sort of _things_ she has been subjected to."

Imogen's temper flared at the implications behind her colleagues words. "I hope to _god_ whoever subjected her to those _things_ will be punished to the full extent of the law."

Constance turned to face her, and motioned for her to sit. Imogen looked warily at the small desk in front of her, but before she could comment, the Potions Mistress had wordlessly transmogrified the desk into a large, plush loveseat with a simple wave of her fingers.

"Er..Thanks," Imogen muttered, and perched on the edge of the seat cushion.

"She is getting help now," Constance supplied, gazing forlornly at the wall behind her colleague.

"That _is_ a good thing, Constance. And you'd be surprised, I think, at the experiences one can overcome."

The Potions Mistress remained unconvinced. "People only _tell_ themselves they overcome their past."

Imogen's eye twitched. Whether or not that statement had been a simple expression of a bleak outlook or a personal jab at her remained unclear.

"Oh, come off of it _Drill_ ," Constance muttered in a tone that belied a surprising amount of familiarity, "that is not at all what I meant. You said you have healed. I take you at your word."

Imogen let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "I should grant you the same courtesy then, I suppose."

Constance looked at the woman seated across her as if she had never really seen her before. "Besides," she said, her dark eyes calculating, "There is a _slight_ possibility I could be wrong about her chances."

"And by slight, mathematically speaking, your chances of being wrong are point zero zero zero one percent?"

A ghost of a smirk tugged at the corners of the Potions Mistress' lips. "It's been known to occur. The last time it did was rather traumatic for me. I gave an incorrect answer to a Professors question during a class lecture in 1976."

Imogen paused for a moment, looking puzzled, before breaking out into a genuine grin. She laughed aloud. "And by god, an even rarer occurrence! The great, iron-fisted trollop of our age has actually made a half-decent attempt at a _joke!_ "

" _Half_ decent?" Constance scoffed, "I suppose that is acceptable. I'll have you know that I made a _fully_ decent joke at a pub in February of 1971."

Imogen chuckled, settling back into the desk-turned-loveseat as the tension in the classroom dissolved. "So, speaking of the dashing Doctor, how did he fare in your presence? I know you love to dress like a nun, but despite that, every time he's in your vicinity he positively _swoons._ "

Constance's cheeks grew hot. "The man is definitely transparent in that regard. He, well. He was here at Cackles with Mildred and I on New Years Eve, because he mistakenly thought that I had requested his company. And the fool tried to _kiss_ me when the clock struck midnight!"

Imogen jumped to her feet. Her eyes glinted with child-like excitement. "Constance, did you _reciprocate?"_

Constance raised her eyebrow and leaned back, her arms crossed tightly across her chest. " _Of course not._ "

When it was clear that that was not a satisfactory answer for Imogen, she continued, "I am not interested in a middle-aged, skirt-chasing divorcee with such a callous disregard for professional conduct."

That wiped the enthusiasm right off of Imogen's face.

"Constance, I ask you this with all sincerity…" she paused, intent on crafting her next statement carefully, "but why do you resist intimacy with others to such a great degree?"

"I certainly don't resist all intimacy," Constance asserted, "I resist the type of intimacy that is trite. That is _meaningless._ "

"Romantic intimacy is certainly _not_ meaningless!" Imogen protested with conviction.

Constance smirked. "That is simply what you have told yourself. It is nothing more than a platitude, which, in the end, will provide you no more comfort than an invisible blanket."

" _Whoa_ there, Edgar Allen Poe," Imogen replied, raising her hands in a gesture of playful surrender.

Constance raised an eyebrow. "You jest because you are nervous. And you are nervous because you know it's the truth."

Imogen rolled her eyes, smiling to conceal the pity she felt for her new friend. "Constance," she said softly, "romantic intimacy is one the _most_ fulfilling things you can experience in life."

Constance shook her head voraciously. "That is a lie that everyone tells themselves."

Imogen sighed. " _Right_ , Constance. Why don't you explain your reasoning to me?"

Constance moved her hands to rest on her hips, and fixed Imogen with a serious look. She took a deep, dedicated breath, like she always did before giving a lengthy lecture that she considered to be of grave importance.

"What sort of _true_ longevity is there in any _romantic_ intimate relationship?" she inquired bitterly, and began to pace the room. "There's an excitement period, no doubt. Then, a fawning period that is mostly fueled by the satiation of animalistic desires. But what after? Even if we don't discover anything that we particularly loathe about the person, we are bound to tire of them. And if we tire of them, there's no retreat, because you're locked in with that person forever…

By society's expectations, by your own expectations, by your fear of loneliness. But you know you are settling, _everyone_ is settling. So we numb out, we distance ourselves in whatever way we can. We go to work, or to play, or _some_ go to pray; just to forget that we have imprisoned ourselves with falsehoods. We have told ourselves that we have inherent meaning, inherent purpose. In objective reality, our only meaning is what others say it is, our worth is measured by the amount of impact we have on others. So when we stop impacting our partners in such a grand way, we have to compensate for that somehow in order to avoid facing the ugly truth; our life, our stories, our _existence_ …it is all meaningless."

Imogen blinked. "Jesus Christ, with that outlook, how are you _not_ tying a noose for yourself right now?"

"I think I'd fancy a walk through the castle grounds, now," Constance said airily, dismissing her friend's concern.

Imogen weighed her options. With a great amount of effort, she decided to swallow her arguments. _You accept your friends for who they_ _ **are.**_ "To the grounds we go, then."

Both women made their way outside, and proceeded to enjoy one another's company in silence.

* * *

 **Jan 5** **th** **, 2000**

 **3:06pm**

Mildred emerged onto the castle grounds from the forest of winter-stripped trees, panting heavily. "Lap…eight... _finished!_ " she announced her completed run to no one in particular between gulps of air. She was not at all surprised to find that the rest of the students in her PE class had all finished their meter run before her. She had never been much of an athlete.

She scanned the throng of shivering young witches in front of her. She frowned when she saw that Enid and Maud appeared to be engaged in a rather heated argument with Ethel Hallow.

The shouts arising from the squabble grew louder as Mildred approached.

"…Shut your fucking face, Ethel!"

"I simply thought it was interesting that our dear _Ms. Hubble_ had-"

"Ethel, please _stop,_ please-"

"Oi! Hallow!" Mildred greeted her adversary, cutting off Maud's tearful plea. "Harassing my friends to harass me? I'm _hurt_ that you don't deem me worthy of direct attacks."

"Oh no, Millie," Ethel grimaced, "I think you _deserve_ as many direct attacks as you can _stand._ "

Mildred sneered. "Whatever you think you can do to me with your little _comments_ , Ethel, you _can't._ "

"I don't have to do anything to you, _Millie,_ " the young witch replied with a faux light-heartedness, " _you've_ done all the damage that is possible to yourself at this point."

Enid stepped in front of Mildred, glowering. " _All_ right, you self-important twat, it's time for you to leave."

Two spots of color appeared high on Ethel's pale cheeks. She walked forward. "Did it _sound_ like I was talking to you?" she growled, poking Enid in the chest.

The other girl responded by shoving her backwards. Mildred looked around nervously, seeing that they were drawing a crowd. From a distance, the altercation looked bad: three on one. Though Maud, who had begun weeping, did not seem like much of an aggressor at that point.

Just before Enid could approach Ethel yet again, Mildred inserted herself between the two teenagers. "LISTEN!" she shouted, "this needs to stop! Ethel, you really need to get a new hobby besides bullying, it's growing tiresome. And Enid, you need to not rise to her bait so often. It's what she _wants._ "

"She's just pissed off because her father probably left her alone at home during Christmas to screw some _slut,_ " Enid muttered.

Ethel growled low in her throat, bordering on losing composure. But all of her training as a wealthy-debutante-to-be was not easily forgotten. Her mouth twisted into a malevolent smile, and she swept her dark eyes over Mildred. "At least I wasn't left _completely_ alone over the holiday."

It happened so fast. All the walls she'd built around herself fell like dominoes. Mildred's ears buzzed. She heard Maud let out a tiny gasp, but the sound seemed so very far away. Her vision tunneled in on Ethel's sneering face; her tensed fists and heaving chest the only part of her body she could sense. She charged at Ethel on numb legs; feeling as if she was flying at high velocity towards her target.

A split second before Mildred pummeled the other teen to the ground, a look of terror flashed in Ethel's eyes. She positively _relished_ it. The satisfaction that came from intimidating a long-time tormentor heightened the ferocity with which she smashed her fist against the other girl's face. Her foe fell backwards onto the frozen grass.

Before Ethel could regain her balance, Mildred pushed her back down. The intent to cause pain was paramount to anything else. People around them where shouting, moving. But she didn't care. There was an inferno in her mind, a blazing, all-consuming wrath that propelled her on top of the other witch so she could wrap her fist in the other girl's hair, drawing her head back to propel her fist into the exposed underside of her chin. Ethel let out a mangled cry, blood filling her mouth, pouring from where her teeth had been driven into her upper lip.

Mildred used her free hand to seize the other girl's small, vulnerable throat. She squeezed her neck, thoroughly enjoying the way her victim's eyes bulged in horror. She released her hair and punched her once, twice, three times.

" _stop!" "you're hurting her!" "she's down!" "you're going to kill her!"_

The screams coming from the group of girls circled around them were muffled; impenetrable to the rage that had taken on a life of its own; blinding Mildred to reason, to reality, to consequences. She focused all of her energy onto the delivery of a particularly forceful blow. Knuckle met bone with such a resounding crack that Mildred was sure she'd broken Ethel's jaw. She wanted her in _agony._ She wanted her to _suffer._

She relaxed her grip on Ethel's windpipe slightly, crushing her body weight down onto the girls diaphragm and compressing her ribcage between her inner thighs so she could barely draw a breath in. "NOT SO POSH NOW, ARE YOU?" Mildred bellowed at the girl beneath her, and released her neck.

She stared down at Ethel's subdued form. She raised her fist to strike her again, but she couldn't bring herself to do it when the sounds of her adversaries' broken wheezes met her ears.

 _Just breathe_ Mildred thought, more to Ethel than to herself. She unclenched her thighs and sat back onto Ethel's pelvis, allowing the beaten teen to expand her lungs fully. She looked down at her knuckles, swollen and covered in fresh blood.

"Girls! Girls! Stand aside!" came Imogen Drill's worried shout as she broke through the circle of students surrounding the recent brawl, " _What on earth_ \- MY GOD!"

 _From a different vantage point_ Mildred thought distantly, _this might be quite the sight._

And it was, for the blonde teacher. With Mildred straddling her, Ethel lay supine on the ground; sobbing uncontrollably. The river of tears that streamed from her eyes mixed with the blood and mucous that covered the bottom half of her face.

"Get off of her, Mildred!" Imogen shrieked, feeling sickened as she noted the large, swollen bulge on the right side of Ethel's mouth.

Mildred silently complied, letting Imogen and Drusilla swarm Ethel. The implications of what she had just done began to settle in her mind. "I…" she said hollowly, to no one in particular.

"Mildred," Enid's tone was grave, imposing. "What the _fuck_ got into you?"

She stole a glance at her friend, who looked wan and fearful.

Beads of sweat broke out across Mildred's forehead. "I don't- I don't know."

Without warning, a strong hand seized her upper arm and yanked her away from the group of her peers so forcefully that it came close to dislocating her shoulder. _Not as if I wouldn't deserve it, at this point._

She felt herself being spun around by her shoulders, and came face to face with a _very_ livid Constance Hardbroom. "What in all the nine circles of hell were you _thinking?!_ " the woman demanded, shaking her so hard she felt her teeth rattle.

Mildred recoiled. Try as she might, she could not find her voice. Her Potions Mistress skin was ashen and she was grinding her teeth together audibly. She let out a horrid, intimidating snarl, her smoldering eyes fixed on the teen before her unblinkingly. Being on the receiving end of this sort of savagery, Mildred thought, was completely _warranted_ for once.

"I...really wasn't. Thinking, that is. Miss."

The Potions Mistress shook her again.

" _Hey!_ "

Enid's anxious cry caused both Mildred and Constance to turn their heads. The lanky young witch emerged from the gaggle of students still surrounding Ethel, dragging a nauseous-looking Maud in tow.

Enid's eyes darted between them both, assessing the situation. "You let her go _right_ the fuck _now,_ " she ordered Ms. Hardbroom, her tone bordering on murderous.

" _Ms. Nightshade_ ," the woman seethed, taken fully aback, "just _who_ do you think you are?"

Enid let go of Maud's elbow, and stormed boldly over to the Potions Mistress. "I'm Mildred's friend. And I'm telling you, for the last time, to _let her go._ "

Constance's face lit up with a mix of disbelief and outrage. "Ms. Nightshade," she bit out ominously, "it would be very beneficial for your future at this Academy to _leave_ this _instant._ "

To the astonishment of the three others, Enid did not budge.

"No."

Mildred gaped up at her friend. The green tinge to Maud's face deepened.

The Potions Mistress had just opened her mouth to curse Enid to an early grave when Dr. Grisham's flustered, familiar voice cut through the tense, crisp winter air.

"Ms. Hardbroom?" He bustled over to the group of witches, his blue eyes darting rapidly around the scene before him.

Constance freed Mildred from her stronghold at once to address the approaching Doctor. "The girl is in there," she supplied, pointing towards the center of the disseminating circle of students.

Sparing nothing but a brief, questioning glance towards Mildred, Dr. Grisham hurried over to Imogen and Ethel.

"Ms. Hallow needs medical attention, if you care," the Potions Mistress informed Mildred, who had stumbled over to Enid's side.

"I…I hope she'll be alright," the teen said weakly. She tasted bile on the back of her tongue.

Constance placed her hands on her hips, eyeing the three students before her with disdain. "Come. An incident of this magnitude requires an immediate discussion with the Headmistress. She's already requested your presence, Ms. Hubble."

Mildred hung her head. She readied herself for the walk to the Castle.

"Oh, and you two are to come along as well," the Professor said coolly, nodding at Maud and Enid.

"C-can't you leave them out of this?" Mildred stammered. She felt like such a monumental _ass._

"No, I most certainly _cannot,_ " Constance declared. Without another word, the woman turned away from them and began to stride dramatically towards the Academy. After a moments hesitation, the three teenagers followed.

* * *

 **04:38pm**

Amelia considered the group before her.

Constance, Imogen, Mildred Hubble, Enid Nightshade, and Maud Moonshine were seated around the circular table she had transmogrified her desk into. Imogen looked a wreck. Her short hair was plastered against the sides of her face and forehead, and she kept neurotically twisting and untwisting the drawstring of her athletic trousers around her fingers.

Constance looked as if she was barely containing her anger. Her mouth was twisted into a dangerous scowl, and her shaking hands were folded in her lap. To Amelia's surprise, Enid nearly mirrored the Potions Mistress: her eyes sparked with a palpable fury and her lips were pressed so firmly together they were beginning to turn white.

Maud was hunched in on herself. Her lower lids were swollen, red, and raw; she was a hairs breadth away from quivering like a leaf. Mildred was barely visible beneath the veil of her tangled hair.

"First and foremost," Amelia began, raising a teacup to her lips with a wavering hand, "how was Ms. Hallows condition when you left her?"

"Not critical, but she certainly wasn't the picture of health," Imogen replied. "The Doctor said that her jaw was broken. He materialized her to his clinic."

Amelia's cup made a small clink as she set it down its saucer. "I see. Starting with you, Ms. Drill," she nodded her head in Imogen's direction, "how did Ms. Hallow come to be in such a state?"

The blonde splayed her fingers out on the finished oak in front of her. "I did not directly witness it. A student, M-Ms. Knight, I think it was, came to find me. She told me that Ms. Hubble and Ms. Hallow had gotten into some sort of altercation, and that Ms. Hubble was, well. In her words, not mine, she relayed that Ms. Hubble was, 'pulverizing her face' and that, 'I better come quick before she kills her'."

Maud shuddered.

"I found Mild- Ms. Hubble, sitting on top of Ms. Hallow. Ms. Hallow was crying, and her face was bloody and swollen. I told Ms. Hubble to get off of Ms. Hallow, and she did."

"When you came upon the two, was Ms. Hubble striking Ms. Hallow?" Amelia implored, keeping her voice level.

"No."

"Did Ms. Hallow tell you anything about what had just occurred?"

Imogen nibbled at a fingernail. "No. It was difficult for her to speak."

"I see. Thank you, Ms. Drill. Now, Ms. Hardbroom, what is your appraisal of the situation?" Amelia leaned forward on her elbows, examining her deputy.

The dark haired woman drew in a deep breath before she answered. "I was not present for Ms. Hubble's _abominable_ display of violence, fortunately." She glared daggers at Mildred.

"Ms. Hallow was lucky I was out on the grounds for patrol duty," she continued, "had I been elsewhere I would not have been able to summon Dr. Grisham so rapidly."

Amelia shifted in her seat. "Indeed."

The Headmistress knew she should continue with her questioning, but she needed a bit of time to collect her thoughts. The crackling of the fire was the only sound that could be heard for several minutes.

"Ms. Moonshine," Amelia finally addressed the skittish teen across her, "would you care to elaborate on what you saw transpire between Ms. Hubble and Ms. Hallow?"

"I-I…" Maud's voice wavered lamely. "Well, Enid and I were having a disagreement with Ethel when Mildred-"

"You mean Ethel was having a go at us," Enid corrected spitefully.

Amelia held up her hand. "Ms. Nightshade, I will get to you. Please let your friend finish."

" _Fine_ ," the girl huffed contemptuously, slumping back into her chair.

Ignoring Enid's attitude, the Headmistress smiled warmly at the bespectacled teen next to her. "Please, Ms. Moonshine, continue."

"L-like I said, Enid and I were having an- well, a dispute with Ethel. Mildred overheard, and, I think she was trying to get Ethel to leave us alone. Then Enid and Ethel started in on each other, and at first, Mildred tried to neutralize the situation, to calm them down….but…" Maud gnawed on her lower lip.

"But then Ethel said…well, she indicated really-"

"She threw the fact that Mildred was homeless for the holidays in her face," Enid spat, unable to contain herself any longer. "I wonder how she got a hold of _that_ tidbit of information?"

" _Ms. Nightshade!_ " Constance shouted, scarlet blooming up her white neck, "you will _shut_ that insolent mouth of yours!"

"Oh, get over yourself!"

"Girl, you are coming _perilously_ close to-"

" _Both of you_ _ **stop**_ _this at once!_ " Amelia ordered. Her tone was so uncharacteristically ferocious that it was enough to wipe the self-righteous anger from both of their faces. Mildred, she noticed, had looked up to regard her with unblinking awe.

"I _believe,_ " the Headmistress continued, "that I was speaking with Ms. Moonshine."

Maud tucked a tuft of baby hair behind her ear, attempting to blink away the fresh tears that had sprung to her eyes. "Ethel…well she did insult Mildred about having to stay at Cackles over Christmas. And then, in an instant…Mildred was charging at her. She knocked her over, she just kept hitting her and hitting her…." The mousy girl swallowed. "I tried to get her to stop. I really did. But she didn't…not until Ms. Drill found us."

"Thank you for your account, my dear. Now, Ms. Nightshade, since you were so anxious to speak?"

Enid perked up. "Sure, Headmistress. Well, as I said, Ethel started in on Maud and I with the verbal abuse, as she always does-"

"She wants a recounting of facts, _not_ opinions," Constance commented dryly.

"And as I recall, she asked _me_ to speak," Enid retaliated, eyes narrowed. "Anyways, Ethel laid into us with the usual my-father-is-the-best-and-all-of-your-families-are-poor-degenerates bollocks, and Mildred got in the middle of it. Actually, I almost smacked Ethel around myself before she dropped that comment about Mildred's _home_ situation."

Ignoring the way Constance growled at her, the girl continued. "Understandably, Mildred launched herself at Ethel. Got on top of her, punched her a few times," she swiveled forward, looking directly at the Potions Mistress. "The brat had it a long time coming, in my _opinion._ "

 _Bang!_ The deputy's fist came down on the table hard, making them all jump. " _Ms. Nightshade_ , I am not above removing you from this office this instant and showing you some _proper discipline_!"

Unfazed by Constance's outburst, Enid shot up from her chair, kicking it backwards with an unprecedented amount of force. "SO DO IT THEN you unbelievable _BITCH_! What, you think you can scare me with what 'you are not above'?! As far as I'm concerned, you'll sink as low as you can go when it comes to hurting those smaller than you!" The teenager trembled, staring down her Professor with potent hatred, the muscles in her neck straining.

Watching the capacity for a civil discussion dwindle so rapidly gave Amelia a headache. As well as a rather panicked hankering for cheesecake. She knew she should intervene. But she didn't.

"I am so sick of hearing you prattle on about how irresponsible, stupid, and immature your students are. I am so sick of you targeting Mildred with your unhappiness. I am so _fucking_ sick-"

"Enid," Maud's small voice broke in, "please, take a deep breath."

"I've _taken_ a deep sodding breath!" Enid thundered, glare still fixed on Constance. "I've taken breaths and calmed myself down in front of this woman, in class after class after class. I've listened to her berate almost everyone except for Ethel, who's the _real_ fucking nuisance! And while this overgrown bully, this- this- poor excuse for a fucking professor laid into Mildred again and again and _again_ \- Mildred was dealing with being homeless! Being removed from her parents care! Wasting away in depression! Ms. Hardbroom is an _adult_ , and she saw Mildred's misery as something to _exploit!_ She- she-" The girl broke off, her emerald eyes filled to the brim with tears.

"Ms. Nightshade," Amelia interrupted softly, "at the time, Ms. Hardbroom was unaware of the circumstances." She looked over at her deputy, who was still looming over the table, her expression free of its prior animosity, but unreadable.

"I _don't_ care," Enid replied brokenly. "I don't fucking _care._ "

Mildred's hand shot up to grab her friend's wrist. Amelia noted the blood and dirt on the girl's knuckles. "Enid, _stop,_ " she pleaded.

The teen swiveled her head around to look at her friend. "Are you _sure?_ "

"Yes, please. _Please_ sit down."

After a heavy sigh and a small tremor, Enid complied. Constance, to Amelia's utter surprise, followed her lead.

The room seemed to darken with a shared sense of trepidation among the witches. To everyone's shock, it was Mildred who finally mustered the courage to speak first.

"Er- Headmistress. Could I give my account now?" she offered awkwardly.

"Go on then." Amelia's reply was cold, clipped. Hostile even. The Headmistress listened to the girl's words with a detached sense of suspicion. She had heard more than enough when Imogen described Ms. Hallows state to her, Mildred's explanation was one that she did not particularly care about. No matter how abused, how hurt her student was, it did not give her the right to assault another. That was how her sister, Agatha, operated, and she'd be damned if she'd let another Agatha attain a full magical education.

When Mildred had finished speaking, Amelia told her that she would inform her of the consequences of her actions by the next day. She then ordered everyone to leave, with the exception of Constance.

The two women watched Imogen and the three students file out of the office.

The door clicked shut, leaving the headmistress and her deputy alone with one another. Constance pressed her back against the stone mantel of the hearth behind her.

Amelia crossed her arms against her large bosom.

"The girl must be expelled."

Dark eyes flitted to meet hers. "That surely cannot be the only option."

The older witch did a double take. Was this not the same woman who had demanded Ms. Hubble's exile from the Academy since the child's _very first day?_

"I assure you, there is no other way." She was too weary to sound perplexed.

"It would seem, what with the Magistrate's Education Division so deep in Edward Hallows pockets."

The unwelcome sensation of outrage brought heat to Amelia's skin for a second time that afternoon. "She _broke the girls jaw!_ Do not throw political corruptions- which I exert little to no control over- in my face. An expulsion would be warranted if she'd done this to a student _without_ a wealthy, influential father."

The Potions Mistress set her mouth as if in pain. "I know that."

"Then there is nothing else to discuss."

"I-" the potions mistress cut herself off, presumably to obey her inner critics commands to _present her words properly_. "Considering the recent upheaval of her life, are there not grounds for removing her from Cackles temporarily and giving her the chance to rehabilitate her behavior so that she may return?" Her mouth delivered those clipped alternatives professionally but her eyes screamed _please don't do this Amelia._

The stouter of the two ran a hand through her brittle, grayed hair. "That is more leniency than even _I_ am willing to grant."

"Of all things, over a schoolyard _scrap_ -"

"A _scrap_ , _**really**_ now? She could have done permanent damage to Ms. Hallow. And as much of a bully that girl has been throughout her years here, surely you do not think she _deserves_ to be disfigured, or worse, _dead?_ "

"Save the hyperbole about what could have been for someone else. I only deal in what is," Constance dismissed, nonplussed. "And for what it is worth, I am not asking for leniency for Mildred out of some callous disregard for Ms. Hallows well-being."

"Then Constance, what in the hell are you asking it _for?_ "

"Penance, I suppose."

A hush blanketed the lavish office.

Amelia watched the firelight dance shadows across the other woman's pronounced jaw. "So let me get this entirely _straight_ ," she advanced towards her deputy, calculating.

"You want me to go soft on the girl despite her violence, when I have expelled others for less. While simultaneously, put the Academy's financial support in jeopardy. All so you can make yourself feel better about _bullying a child_ for the better part of three years?" She reached up and jabbed her finger against a spot directly beneath Constance's collarbone. " _Have I got that right_?"

Many in the Cackles student body would have given a limb to see how much the unshakable fortress that was Constance Hardbroom resembled a scolded child right then. Cheeks burning with shame, the deputy met Amelia's eyes.

"Yes."

The Headmistress' stepped backwards, jolted by how… _desperate?_ Constance looked. "What on _earth_ has gotten _into_ you?"

The taller witches' shoulders sagged. She did not answer.

Mystified, Amelia collapsed into the burgundy armchair beside her.

"Amelia, I implore you-"

"She is _dangerous_ the way she is, Constance. I do not know what you expect from me."

"I can help her. The physician can help her. If you would only-"

" _YOU CANNOT POSSIBLY_ _ **KNOW**_ _THAT!_ "

Caught off guard by the ferocity of the Headmistress' outburst, Constance stumbled backwards.

She threw her arms up, pushing herself forward onto the armchair's cushion to pierce her deputy with an aggressive glare. " _I_ _ **REFUSE**_ _TO FORGIVE THIS, CONSTANCE! DO YOU HEAR ME?_ "

Amelia shook her head, sick with confusion and fury. It was her mother all over again, begging her to forgive Agatha for killing their dog. Begging her to ask the classmate her sister had tortured to forgive her. Weeping, telling Amelia her love for her sister was her only hope. _Fat lot of good_ _ **kindness**_ _did that evil twat._

It was only when Constance's legs gave way and she collapsed to her knees that Amelia's mind disconnected from her past. All pride gone, the younger woman leaned back into the stone wall behind her, watching the Headmistress with terrified eyes.

 _Jesus._ Amelia did not think, she just lowered herself onto the ground, and took her deputy's hands in her own. They were cold, clammy, and shaking violently.

"I'm so sorry, Constance. I'm so sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry _for,_ " the Potions Mistress insisted, staring down at Amelia's hands wearily. "It is just- it is-" she paused to not-so-covertly swallow the lump that had formed in her throat, "she is not evil. She is _not_ broken beyond repair."

The Headmistress groaned, releasing Constance's hands to rest her back against the chair legs behind her. " _Fine._ "

"Pardon?"

Amelia peered at the other witch over her spectacles. "I said fine. I will give her this chance, if it is so important to you."

Before she knew what was happening, Constance had closed the gap between them to embrace her.

* * *

 **09:48pm**

To say that beating the living daylights out of Ethel had exhausted Mildred was an understatement. She all but collapsed face first onto her bed. Her limbs felt like sandbags, and she had no intention of moving them until the following morning commenced. She nuzzled into the pillow beneath her head, certain that her spent brain would allow her to drift into a dreamless sleep.

At that very moment, someone decided to knock on her dormitory door. Mildred groaned. It was as if the Universe had conspired to destroy every moment of contentment in her life.

"Come _in_ ," the teen rasped. She'd sounded more irritated than she meant to.

The oak door swung open.

"Have I caught you at a bad time, Ms. Hubble? _Interrupted_ something, perhaps?" Constance snapped, and stepped into her room.

"Not in particular," the bundled mess of blankets on the bed muttered, "just my sleep."

"If you were truly asleep it would take much more than a knock to rouse you," Constance replied curtly. Knowingly.

Mildred sighed dramatically into her sheets. "Can I do something for you?"

The thin woman marched over to Mildred's bed.

" _Not in particular_ ," she snarled, throwing the teen's words back at her.

 _Why won't she just go away? Why can't_ _ **everyone**_ _just go away?_ Mildred pushed herself up onto her elbows, fixing her professor with a measured look. "You already yelled at me once today, I know you disapprove of what I did or whatever. I get it, message received. There's nothing else to say."

Constance erupted. "Of what you _'DID OR WHATEVER'?!_ You stupid, _stupid_ child!" she stalked past her students bed, trying not to kick the girl's trunk as she went.

"Well if all you're going to do is insult-"

"Oh to hell with _me_ insulting _you!_ " the Potions Mistress whirled to face her, rage glittering in her dark eyes, " _You_ nearly _killed_ another _student_! _DO YOU HEAR ME?_ You could have _ended her life_!"

Mildred sprang to her feet. "It's not like I _meant_ to! She just- she just kept saying these _horrible_ things about my friend's home lives!" Her face contorted with malice as she summoned the image of Ethel taunting her in her mind. "If it hadn't of been me, someone else would have taken her on eventually. She was practically _asking_ to get knocked about!"

Constance felt something clench inside of her chest.

 _Maybe she **is** broken. _

That possibility jarred Constance so greatly that she knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that what the girl needed right then was a cold, hard dose of reality. " _Asking_ to get knocked about?" she echoed in a menacing, quiet voice. She moved closer to her student with a feline grace. "In the same manner in which you _asked_ your mother and father to knock you about?"

The vicious question hung in the air, lingering on Mildred's skin like a ghost. She backed away from her form mistress. The color drained from her face.

"I stopped," she defended weakly, "I stopped hitting her. No one had to pull me off. I stopped myself. She wasn't even unconscious…"

Losing her patience, the Potions Mistress took two steps forward and seized the girl's shoulders, yanking Mildred to her. "You broke her jaw. You cracked two of her ribs. She was laying in a pool of her own blood when you were finished with her."

The teen twisted in her teacher's grip, shame washing over her in waves. The older woman did not relent, determinedly holding the girl still. Mildred pressed her lips together, and focused all of her energy on keeping her resolve intact.

"Whatever is the matter?" Constance asked, her voice a deadly calm. "Cat got your ever-flapping tongue?"

Disturbed by the sensation of her Professors breath tickling her cheek, Mildred turned her head away. " _Hit_ me, already," she whispered.

"Damn you!" Constance cried out, all at once at the end of her rope. She released Mildred with such force that the teen nearly fell onto her back. Before the girl could scramble away, however, Constance had seized her chin and pulled it upwards in one swift movement, forcing Mildred to look at her.

" _I already told you I would_ _**never**_ _,_ " the older woman bit out between gritted teeth. " _NO!_ " she roared, as the girl attempted to tear her eyes away. "Don't you _dare_ look _away_ from me."

Too dumbstruck to feel fright, Mildred complied. She wearily noted her Professor's shattered composure; her unhinged breathing, the involuntary twitching of the muscles in her jaw, and the look of pure… _distress_ in her eyes.

Fuck, what was going on with the woman? Surely, she couldn't unsettle the normally composed deputy so badly, could she? Remorse seized her, and before she could stop herself, Mildred reached up and gently wrapped her hand around Constance's forearm.

She softened her gaze. _It's okay, it's okay to leave me be. I'm too much for you, and I know it._

The grip on her chin tightened. Her teacher's breathing became more erratic.

In response, she swiped her thumb comfortingly across the skin of the woman's arm. _Hit me or leave me, whatever you want. Just stop doing this to yourself._

"Do you even _realize_ …" Constance seethed, barely aware of Mildred's distorted attempt to console her, "can you even _begin_ _to_ _comprehend_ how _infuriating_ it is to look after you? To know…to always _know_ that you are mere _seconds_ away from destroying yourself?"

Mildred tried to make sense of the words, she really, really did. On the surface, she could definitely put herself in her form mistress' shoes: it must have been harrowing to deal with a crazed teenager that was blubbering one moment, then raging like a murderer the next. But it still begged the question: why would Ms. Hardbroom choose to put herself in that position? There was simply no external reward that would compel her to watch over the teen, a task that seemed to distress the woman beyond measure. It was as if she was putting herself in a painful situation for absolutely no personal benefit. It made no sense.

" _I'm_ destroying _my_ self?" Mildred asked with a newfound confidence, the muscles of her jaw flexing against the pads of Constance's fingers, "You're the one that's fighting with your impulse to curse me into oblivion all the bloody time just because you feel some misguided sense of pity for me."

" _Misguided?_ " her professor growled with such ferocity that bits of spittle flew from her mouth, "I _saw_ you in that bathroom-"

" _Stop_ it!" Mildred shrieked.

"I _saw_ you in that bathroom," Constance insisted, ignoring her, "half-drowned, being branded by that pathetic creature that calls herself your _mother._ I _saw_ her hold you _while she shoved her fingers inside of you_ … who _wouldn't_ pity that?"

Mildred tightened her grip on Constance's arm, and desperately attempted to wrench her face free. The Potions Mistress didn't budge an inch, remarkably strong for her small stature. "I _told_ you to _look at me_ , girl!" she bellowed, completely undone.

Dread and despair. That's all Mildred could feel. There was nothing else. Nothing else. "I don't want your pity, you raving lunatic!" she protested shrilly.

"That's _Too. Damn. Bad_." The deputy punctuated each word by harshly squeezing her chin.

All Mildred wanted to do was get away from the woman before her. She had to make a move. "You know, maybe it's not pity. Maybe it's something else."

The hand holding her softened a bit. "And what, _pray_ _tell_ , would that be?"

Mildred swallowed. "Maybe, when you were watching me in that bathroom, you weren't _pitying me._ Maybe, in reality, you were _envying my mother_." She paused for effect.

"My mother could hurt me with impunity, something you've clearly always wanted to do," Mildred motioned towards the whitened knuckles on both sides of her chin. When her Potions Mistress failed to discernibly react, Mildred went in for the kill.

"Hell, maybe you were jealous of the _other_ things she did. Maybe you've always wanted to _stick your fingers-_ "

"GOD!" Constance released her at once with a strangled cry, whipping around to drive her fist into the wall behind her.

The patches of skin on Mildred's chin that her Professor had been gripping stung. Like scorched earth, she thought. She heard flesh meet stone as her form mistress punched the wall for a second time.

Instead of feeling satisfaction or a perverted sense of victory, Mildred felt regret and hopelessness. Was it all life would ever be for her? An endless, dark cycle of harsh words, distrust, and violence? She didn't want to turn out like her mother or father. She didn't want to cause harm to others whenever she felt threatened.

Minutes later, when it was clear that Constance had finished assaulting the wall, and all that could be heard were the woman's ragged gasps for air, Mildred spoke.

"I'm sorry. I didn't realize that would hurt you so much."

When she got no response, she continued, "I was just trying…I just wanted you to go away. I wanted you to _want_ to go away. And that was the only…I don't know. I don't really think those things. I'm sorry."

The stretch of silence Mildred spent waiting for her form mistress to reply was excruciating. She could not recall a single other moment in her life in which time had passed so achingly slow.

"If that was what you wanted," Constance croaked, staring down at her bloodied hand, "you should have considered simply _telling_ me to go away."

"It didn't really seem like you would have listened," Mildred pointed out.

She had to suppress the urge to cringe when the Potions Mistress turned to face her.

"I suppose I can see how you came to that conclusion."

"Huh?" Mildred near-squeaked in surprise. _Did she actually just agree? After all the bullshit I just pulled?_

Constance sighed audibly. "Mildred, please. Just get into bed."

"Uhm…your hand?" the teen said dumbly, remaining rooted to the spot. The blood dripping from her teacher's fist had formed a small pool on the floor.

"I have potions for that. Get into bed."

"I- uhhh….okay," Mildred mumbled, unsure of herself. She clumsily situated herself beneath her bedcovers, eyes never leaving her Professor's injury.

Steadfastly ignoring her pupils confusion, Constance transmogrified the bedside table into a chair (with her good hand) and sat down in it.

Mildred sat up in bed immediately. "What are you doing? You really need to treat that."

Constance pinched the bridge of her nose. "I do not know what I am doing, Ms. Hubble. Is that not disgustingly apparent?"

"You're bleeding all over my floor," Mildred remarked flatly.

"I will clean it up."

"You really can leave if you want. I won't _destroy myself in mere seconds_ , or whatever."

"I cannot just leave _you_ …and _things_ like this," Constance answered in a hoarse, tired voice.

Mildred sunk back against her pillows in defeat. She'd lost all hope of reasoning with the woman.

After several moments, Constance spoke again. "I apologize for attacking your wall."

Mildred waved her hand dismissively. "I'm sure the wall will be fine."

"It was not the wall I was apologizing to."

"I know. And it's fine. _I'm_ fine…grateful actually," Mildred stopped. "After all," she thought out loud, "that wall could have easily been my face."

Constance winced. "You say that with an unsettling amount of nonchalance."

Mildred considered her professor's words. "So, you agree then? About the wall and my face?"

Her Potions Mistress groaned. "Tell me, do you _want_ me to hit you? Would that make you feel _better_ , somehow?"

Mildred scoffed. "Of course I don't want you to hit me. I don't want _anyone_ to hit me. That's fucking crazy."

Her Professor tutted softly. "Language, Ms. Hubble."

"We're rather past formalities at this point, don't you think?"

"Formalities hold things together in this world," Constance asserted.

Mildred rolled her eyes. _**Vintage**_ _Hardbroom._ "Okay then, _Miss._ "

Too fatigued to push the issue, Mildred curled up on her side and pulled her comforter over her head.

Constance stayed where she was until the teen beside her fell asleep.

* * *

 **Jan 6** **th** **, 2000**

 **04:09pm**

If she was being completely honest, Mildred was actually _relieved_ that the Potions Mistress had called her to her quarters for a private chat on a Saturday afternoon.

Enid and Maud had been acting strange around her all day. Both of them were filled to the brim with so many unasked questions for her, and both were trying to suppress them so hard that she could practically hear their body language shout, "GIVE US ANSWERS!" Their presence was exhausting. Ms. Hardbrooms, oddly enough, was not.

"You will be suspended for four weeks." The woman's eyes were hard, but not unkind.

"Huh." That was a bit of a shock. She was prepared for immediate expulsion, with possible exile to Antarctica.

Her Professor bristled at her absent-minded response. "Are you not curious as to where you will stay?"

Mildred wrinkled her forehead. "I am, actually. I guess I didn't give it much thought."

"There are many, _many_ things to which you give little thought," the Potions Mistress derided.

"Yeah, yeah," the teen mumbled, "I know."

"I received post from Dr. Grisham this morning. As your guardian, he is willing to house you in his private clinic. Nurses will be present to supervise you when he is away."

 _Well, it'll be warmer than Antarctica._ "Do I get my _very own_ padded cell?"

Constance attempted to sound as if she was clearing her throat, but it was very apparent to Mildred that she was swallowing a laugh. "As appropriate as those living arrangements may be for you, he will be providing a furnished room. You will have your schoolwork delivered to you so that you do not fall behind, and you are still expected to attend your sessions with Mrs. Molyneux."

Mildred pondered the woman's words.

"Your friends are welcome to visit you, as well."

 _This is getting weird._ "That sounds really nice and all, but why didn't I get expelled?" the teen wondered aloud.

"Because that was not what the Headmistress decided," Constance rebutted quickly. _Too_ quickly.

Mildred reeled, the cogs in her mind working like mad to turn out a plausible explanation.

 _There's no way. There's absolutely no way. Ms. Cackles looked at me like I was a wild animal that needed caging. Why in all the fucks would she_ _ **not**_ _expel me? Unless…_

The teen considered her Professor's posture. The way she was giving her undivided attention to the unremarkable wooden beams on the ceiling above them, the way she was curling and uncurling her left hand over her knee, the way she held her mauve-painted lips together with wavering control…. _Oh._

A slow-spreading warmth filled Mildred's lungs. "You convinced her to let me stay?"

The older woman stilled for several beats. "Yes."

She'd said it so quietly that it almost went unheard. But Mildred's ears had been straining to capture an answer, and when the answered registered, she felt like she was floating.

 _No one has ever tried to protect me before. Not like this._

"Will you go to my parents trial with me?" Mildred prompted shyly, high on her realization.

Through the haze, she heard Constance click her tongue. "Of _course._ "

The teen inhaled deeply, dizzy at how rapid her Professor's response came. "Are- are you sure?"

Finally, Constance looked up at her, eyes alight. "I am completely certain."

Mildred held her breath, waiting for the punchline. Sensing that, her Professor leaned forward. " _Completely_ certain. Foolish girl."

Mildred almost collapsed at the harsh whisper. She seized the edges of her chair for balance. Liquid fire rushed up through her body, kindling behind her eyes. "Thank you," she breathed.

The Potions Mistress, clearly disconcerted by the intimacy of the exchange, pulled herself back. At that, the young witch before her felt suddenly, inexplicably empty.

Mildred forced her gaze sideways, at a loss for how to communicate. She'd never felt so grateful before. It took a full minute for the intensity within her to abate, for the dust to settle. The girl felt Constance's eyes piercing through her like laser beams.

"There are bruises on your chin."

 _Where the hell did_ _ **that**_ _come from?_ Uncertain of what else to do, Mildred nodded slowly. She reached up to rub her chin. She'd seen the marks in the mirror earlier that morning. Maud and Enid hadn't asked her about them, probably figuring that Ethel had gotten in a swing or two.

" _Girl!_ " her Potions Mistress snapped harshly. "There. Are. _Bruises_. On. Your. Chin _._ "

 _Shit, the woman looks miserable. Nauseous, even._ The teen shrugged uncomfortably. "I know. It kinda hurts. What are you getting so upset about?"

The woman across her looked truly affronted. "I…" she started, her voice much calmer, "I caused them."

Mildred's cheeks flushed a bit. "Yeah, well…you were gripping me rather hard. It's alright, though, Miss. You were very angry…and justifiably so."

When her form mistress failed to do anything but stare straight at her with that _awful,_ pitying look of hers, Mildred felt obligated to continue. "Listen, I've definitely had worse, okay? And my chin doesn't hurt that badly. I mean, it can't hurt any worse than your hand."

"The injury to my hand was of my own doing."

"Right, well, I _did_ break someone's _jaw_ yesterday so-"

" _That's hardly the point!_ " Constance hollered, springing to her feet.

Mildred, used to her Professor's mood swings at that point, didn't flinch. "Well, then what _is_ the point?"

"The _point_ is that I find your uncharacteristic acceptance of the situation disturbing! Are you not angry with me for laying hands on you?"

"With all due respect, it's not like you beat me to a pulp."

"No, but I was _seconds_ away-" Constance hesitated, and changed course. "I still gripped you hard enough to leave marks."

"That's irrelevant," Mildred asserted, "you wanted to beat me. And you beat the wall instead. That says a lot more about you than grabbing my face ever will. Y-you've got character. You've got restraint. You're a good person."

"For gods _sake,_ child," the woman moaned, sounding more forlorn than Mildred had ever heard her, "I seized you hard enough to cause a visible injury, and came irredeemably close to thrashing you, and you consider my conduct _worthy of praise_? Can you not see that the simple _desire_ to cause you harm is just as despicable as beating you?"

Mildred squirmed in her seat. "Well, you certainly showed more self-control than I did yesterday. With Ethel, in case you forgot."

"Do not change the subject. You are a child. I am a grown woman. There is a significant difference. Your brain has not fully matured."

"Okay, if you're so intent on letting yourself have it, I admit, wanting to hurt someone else isn't necessarily a _good_ thing. But stopping yourself _is._ It is to me anyway."

With an exhausted huff, Constance sank back into her chair, looking like a shell of her former self.

Like the very sight of Mildred hollowed her out.

She smoothed out a non-existent wrinkle on her satin sleeve.

The teen uncrossed her arms, unnerved in the presence of the fidgeting, apprehensive version of her steely potions mistress before her. "I've never had an adult that wanted to hurt me _stop_ before."

"The standards you hold adults to are abysmal, Mildred."

The girl gave her a smile that was lackluster at best. "I _know._ "

* * *

 _They cannot scare me with their empty spaces_

 _Between stars-on stars where no human race is._

 _I have it in me so much nearer home_

 _To scare myself with my own desert places._

* * *

 _A/N: I take no ownership of the creative property of Jill Murphy or Robert Frost._


	14. The Broken One, Pt 1

_Chapter Twelve: The Broken One, Pt. One_

 _A/N: slight mention of the Harry Potter-verse in this chapter. I'm not sure what happened when I uploaded Chapter Eleven, Pt. 2 but it didn't show a proper update date. In any case, here's Chapter Twelve, Pt. 1._

 **Jan. 7th, 2000**

 **10:09am**

Dr. Grisham had never considered himself to be a timid man. Though his father and his schoolmates had often scorned him for not joining the armed forces in young adulthood, he rarely let the words and opinions of others discourage him. He took pride in his studies and eventual groundbreaking research in magical medicine, and did not look outside of himself to build his self-confidence. That was why he felt so out of sorts approaching the Castle where the most accomplished Potions Mistress in the United Kingdom lived.

 _Turned away from one kiss by an intelligent woman and I'm as insecure as a teenager preparing for his first date._

He pushed open one of the heavy doors leading into Cackles, and relaxed his shoulders when the rush of warm air in the torch lit hallway soothed his chilled skin. He strode forward with a furrowed brow, struggling to remember the way to the Potions Classroom.

Once he passed the Dining Hall, he recalled the directions purely from photographic memory – _down the steep staircase with a haggard painting of Merlin near the top step, take the path on the left from the two that bifurcate off the bottom step, turn right once you pass the glass case of candles enchanted to burn for eternity, look for the door made of worn-down oak straight ahead of you, and knock._

 _Come on, knock you fool!_

The physician forced his reluctant fist to rap on the ancient, splintering wood. He heard the scrape of a chair and the echo of firm, confident steps on the other side.

Constance Hardbroom opened the door.

"Doctor."

Her level voice cut across the cool dungeon air between them.

"Ms. Hardbroom," he tilted his head towards her in greeting, and stepped inside her classroom.

"I gather you're here to collect Mildred?" she queried pointedly.

He ducked his head unconsciously at her penetrating look. "Yes. Although, that is not all I came here to discuss."

"Oh?" She sounded genuinely curious.

He studied the way the late morning sunlight lit up the grime-encrusted rims of the used cauldrons stacked in the corner of the room.

"I do not think Mildred should attend her parents trial. Not after what occurred yesterday."

Constance drew in air sharply. "I highly doubt she will _beat_ them, Doctor."

He whirled around to face her.

 _Don't look at her lips, don't look at her lips, there, her forehead should be fine._

"Cons- Ms. Hardbroom. You and I both know she is harboring a dangerous amount of uncontrolled magic in her veins. If she goes to the trial, she will be face-to-face with her abusers in a setting where she is not at their mercy. If she lost control with _Ms. Hallow_ enough to beat her to a pulp, whose to say she won't explode in a courtroom when faced with an attorney seeking to _defend her parents actions_?"

The woman opposite him looked down and began to pick at the varnish on one of her fingernails.

"I see your point," she offered flatly, "but it is worth noting that when our Gym Mistress ordered her to stop striking Ms. Hallow, she complied."

Dr. Grisham swallowed a snort.

"Surely you understand that if her outburst is one of a magical kind there will be no one _left_ to order her to stop?"

"I _do_ understand that!" Constance's sudden shout caused him to take a step backwards.

He took in her oddly hunched posture.

"What has _changed_ in the past week?" he prompted, bewildered.

"She- she asked me to go with her. To the trial. I cannot, I simply…How can we take that away from her? Weren't _you_ the one that told her it would help her heal?"

The physician rolled her words over in his head.

"Well yes, Ms. Hardbroom. I did. But that was before I knew she wields the destructive capability of a literal atomic bomb. And before she mercilessly thrashed one of her peers. I had to admit the child to St. Aumars last night. She not only broke her jaw, she broke two ribs, one of which punctured her right lung."

" _What?_ " The Potions Mistress gulped audibly, and leaned against the edge of the rickety desk at her side. "Why was Amelia not informed of this?"

"It does not change anything," Dr. Grisham answered, feeling suddenly defensive. "Her life is not at risk. It was a small collection of blood, but I did not have the tools necessary to fix her condition at my clinic. She needed a small tube placed in the sac around her lung to drain it, and I did not have the tube nor a sterile environment. I did not even notice it until after I responded to you by post."

"So, you are planning to inform the Headmistress today?" the woman's voice sounded uncharacteristically small.

"It would be best if I did, yes. Mr. Hallow is coming to see his daughter tomorrow evening."

Ms. Hardbroom shivered, and rubbed her upper arms.

"Amelia may reconsider Mildred's punishment. She may expel her."

The physician nodded, confused by the woman's reaction.

"Mildred is lucky that she is not old enough to be reported to the authorities, Ms. Hardbroom. Even if she is expelled, Magistrate Wards are entered into compulsory magical education. Perhaps the schooling is not as prestigious as what is offered here at Cackles, but it is available nonetheless."

"Oh, perhaps a magical education at _Hogwarts,_ then?" Constance scoffed. "It will take years to repair the damage the Dark Lord did to that institution. She cannot leave Cackles, it is the only true home the girl has!"

"Careful, Ms. Hardbroom. I attended Hogwarts."

"So you are accustomed to the traditions there? Mainly, the administrations reckless endangerment of half the student body by leaving the fate of the school in the hands of a teenaged boy?"

The physician frowned.

"It's highly unlikely she would be transferred there, if she is even expelled from Cackles in the first place. The Ministry of Magic does not often take wards from the Magistrate. Too much paperwork is involved."

The Potions Mistress clucked her tongue in reproach, mumbling something under her breath that sounded a lot like ' _quill-wielding barbarians_ '.

Though he had bristled at the disdain the Potions Mistress held for his former school, Dr. Grisham knew he would do everything in his power to not let the Ministry of Magic get their hands on Mildred. They already looked down upon wizards and witches who chose not to use wands, he shuddered to think what they would do with a child that couldn't control her powers. Determined to disengage, he raised his hands up in a gesture of truce.

"Lets get off of the politics, they have no bearing on this discussion."

"Alright, off politics then. Off her possible expulsion, even."

The physician felt the worried creases in the corners of his eyes smooth, full of thankful relaxation. From the little time he had known the deputy, he had not expected her to let go of an argument so quickly.

"Moving on, then. I have an appointment with the Headmistress at noon. Then I will collect Mildred at one."

Constance sucked in an irritated breath.

"Did I indicate that I wanted to move on _completely?_ What can we do about her trial? Is there any way we can get her there and ensure the safety of those around her?"

The questions hit Dr. Grisham like a slap, and he had to bite the side of his cheek to keep from letting out an exasperated growl.

 _I shouldn't have hoped for her stubbornness to let up._

"There is nothing I can do. I am unwilling to put so many lives at risk."

"And what if she reacts unfavorably to the news that she cannot go?" Constance pushed, her eyes searching his.

"We already know that she will not lash out against us."

"Oh, really? Even if there are _trees_ around?"

"Do you always carry on like this?" the physician snapped harshly.

The Potions Mistress smirked. "Not always."

Dr. Grisham swayed slightly, making a mental note to never forget how pervasive this woman's charisma was, how _intoxicating_ a simple, self-assured expression of hers could be. "Well then, what the hell would you suggest?"

 _You godforsaken woman._

She mulled his question over, her lips pursed in concentration. "A Potion. A temporary magical suppressant, perhaps?"

Dr. Grisham felt cold sweat form across his upper back. "You cannot be serious."

Constance shrugged. "You asked me for a suggestion. That is the only feasible one I can come up with."

"I am already putting my license and freedom on the line by not reporting her uncontrolled magic," he bit out, "and you are seriously proposing the administration of a controlled substance to a minor? One that always requires prior Magistrate approval? One that is only used on inmates in maximum security prison?"

The woman simply nodded, eyes alight.

"If you recall, Doctor, I am the one that introduced the latest formulation of the suppressant during my senior year at Weirdsister. One that did not inflict _pain_ upon those forced to take it. I assure you, I am more than capable of brewing it without alerting the Magistrate."

Overcome with mental fatigue, the physician plopped himself down unceremoniously onto one of the student chairs. It creaked under his weight.

"This is dangerous. As heartened as I am to see you so protective of Mildred, I worry that shielding her from the real-world consequences of her actions will negatively influence her."

In a split-second, the woman across him had assumed an intimidating position over him, practically oozing fury from every pore.

" _Real-world_ consequences? The Magistrate's _real-world consequence_ for simply _possessing_ the ability to lash out with uncontrolled magic is _lifetime_ imprisonment when she is of age. The _Ministry's_ real-world consequence for the same is lifetime imprisonment in the presence of _Dementors_ on a goddamn _isolated island_ in the middle of the goddamned _ocean_! If those are the _consequences_ I seek to shield her from, I highly doubt the outcome will be negative."

Though her face was inches from his, and he felt himself weaken considerably as her scent – _lavender and iodine –_ washed over him, he met her eyes sturdily.

"I was _not_ referring to the outdated punishments governing bodies deal out!" the physician exclaimed, "I was referring to the way we respond to her harming a peer! You are fighting tooth and nail to keep her from expulsion, when that is the expected consequence for what she did."

Constance backed away from him slightly, giving him the confidence to rise from his chair. He placed his hands behind his head, and laced his fingers together to lock them there.

"You have expressed _no_ concern for the girl that Mildred hospitalized. Furthermore, you are suggesting that we put her in a courtroom with former abusers with full knowledge of the destruction she can cause, and administering an illegal substance to facilitate her attendance! If we give her a potion beforehand, she will need to be informed of why she is receiving it! And she will know the powers she has at that point, and know that we are breaking the law to cover up for her. That is not the sort of role model I want to be for a damaged, angry child!"

The Potions Mistress turned towards the classroom window, fixing her lightless gaze on the frost-dusted, formidable pine tree right outside of the glass.

"Do you really think it is _ethical_ to continue to keep what we know about her abilities from her?"

Dr. Grisham didn't have an answer for that. "I think she already has some idea." He flexed his wrists.

"Yes, but she hardly knows how much harm she can do," the dark-haired woman pointed out. "Once she learns what she is capable of, I have no doubt in my mind that she would want those around her to be protected. You think that ensuring that sort of protection is a negative thing?"

"No. But putting her in a situation where such protection is necessary _is._ " The physician's tone did not have the finality he'd wanted it to.

Constance pinched the bridge of her nose, worn from the conversation. "Think it over, will you?"

Dr. Grisham, unsettled by the way she had so easily accepted defeat, chose his next words carefully. "I will. But no promises."

* * *

 **11:18am**

"Where are they sending you, again?"

Mildred heard Enid's voice from somewhere behind her. She loved her dark-haired comrade, but she resented her perceptiveness. At dinner the night before, she'd briefly mumbled to both Maud and Enid that she'd be staying at a clinic not too far from the school. They had both seemed to accept it.

Mildred threw the last of her worn school robes into her trunk.

"To stay with the Physician. The one who I saw around Thanksgiving."

" _What?_ That doesn't make any sense." Enid rested her chin on her elbow, roving her eyes over her friend's nervous face.

"He's the only Magistrate Employee that has a place for me to stay twenty minutes away from school grounds. Ms. Cackles wants to make sure I stay up to date on my assignments."

She turned her back to the other teenager, taking her time to ease the leather strap surrounding her trunk through its buckle.

"That's bullshit. There's a group home for Magistrate Wards right next to St. Aumars. That's only thirty minutes away."

 _Fuck me._

"Alright, _fine,_ " Mildred bit out, shoving her packed belongings on the floor with excessive force.

Enid, not the least bit put off by her friend's attitude, sat up straight. She patiently waited for her to elaborate.

Mildred sat on the edge of her bed. A part of her wanted to blurt out every gruesome detail of her recent past, if only to get the other girl out of the room. A part of her wanted to keep up the lie she'd been telling since Thanksgiving, but after Enid defending her so viciously in Ms. Cackles office she couldn't bring herself to maintain her dishonesty.

Keeping her eyes trained on the wall in front of her, she forced the confession out of her mouth.

"I didn't get taken out of my parents home during the summer. I got taken out after the physician examined me in November. I'm sorry I lied to you."

She saw Enid stiffen in her peripheral vision.

" _Oh._ "

The amount of tragic understanding in her friend's voice made her want to vomit her breakfast onto the floor.

"Is that-" Enid began tentatively, "is that why you hadn't been eating? Did things get- did they get _worse_...this past summer?"

Mildred heard the unspoken words: _'Worse than they had been?... Because they've always been kind of bad, haven't they?'_

"You could say that." Her reply was laced with a bitterness that was not directed at the girl in her room.

"I'm sor-" Enid began, but then thought better of it. "Thank you for telling me the truth. That must have been…difficult."

Mildred sat on her hands. "Don't mention it."

Before Enid could probe further, Maud bounced into the cramped dormitory. She crossed the space between the doorway and bed to gather Mildred up into a hug so tight that it knocked her glasses askew.

"I'm gonna miss you," the youngest witch mumbled into her friend's shoulder.

"I'm gonna miss you too, Maud," Mildred replied numbly, giving her a half-hearted pat on the back. "I'm sorry that this happened."

The brunette witch pulled back, blinking tears away. "I'm sorry too, but maybe this will be good for you. Maybe they'll have therapy for you at the clinic, or something."

Briefly, Mildred wondered what it must feel like to never think twice about wearing her heart on her sleeve. To always be filled with hope that things could improve.

"Yeah, maybe."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Enid quirk an eyebrow over one of Maud's pigtails.

* * *

 **03:47pm**

Mildred grimaced as the bitter January air stole her breath. She had to keep her pace brisk in order to keep up with Dr. Grisham. She stole a sidelong glance at him. He'd been exuding a silent tension since he'd collected her at Cackles, and she had the distinct impression that he had a bone to pick with her.

The pair made their way towards the large, brick edifice that housed the private clinic. The physician pushed against the wrought-iron bars enclosing the building, and the gates creaked open.

Once they reached the clinic entrance, Mildred stepped inside, bringing two pools of water with her. Dr. Grisham fumbled with the light switch on the wall. She pulled down the hood of her cloak, and winced as the harsh fluorescent bulbs on the ceiling momentarily blinded her.

 _Just like I remember it_ she thought grimly. She felt a chill race up her spine as her eyes fell on the cot she'd sat on many months ago – where Dr. Grisham had cast the spell that had exposed her.

"I'll show you to your room," the physician spoke, startling her out of her reverie. She fell into step behind him, passing the array of communal hospital beds to enter a dark hallway to the left of the nurses station. The corridor was dim, windowless, and smelled like dust and bleach. He led Mildred to the heavy-looking black door at the end of the hall, which - she noted curiously- did not have a lock.

"After you," he said, gesturing for her to step in front of him. She turned the handle, and took in the sight of her new bedroom. Torn curtains hung in front of dark windows. The four poster bed had obviously been transmogrified from a cot, it looked so out of place in what had once been a private hospital room. There was a large painting of a meadow being swallowed by a thunderstorm on the wall above the headboard, and an old dresser stood in the furthest corner.

"I'll have to fetch you a desk and chair tomorrow," Dr. Grisham said flatly, setting Mildred's trunk down by her side.

"Thank you," Mildred said softly, turning towards him. "I…I really appreciate this. You going out of your way to keep me at Cackles, and all."

The physician shrugged his shoulders. _Don't thank me._

"Uhm…well. I guess I should get to unpacking, then?" the young witch felt out of sorts. She wasn't used to this sort of solemn disapproval.

"Yes, that would be the best course of action at this time," he remarked, more reserved and clinical than she'd ever seen him.

Mildred wiped her clammy palms on the front of her jumper.

 _What am I supposed to say to Dr. Zombie?_

"Great, I'll get to it then."

She dragged her trunk to the center of the room, and worked on opening the lid. She began to fill the top drawer of the dresser with her socks and underclothes, ignoring the fact that the physician remained in the doorway, observing her like she was some sort of clinical research subject. _Hell, maybe I am._

Once she'd managed to put away the remainder of her garments, she addressed his presence.

"Uh, not to be rude, but is there a reason you're still standing there?"

"I need to make sure you didn't bring along anything to harm yourself with in your belongings," Dr. Grisham supplied.

Mildred opened her mouth to argue, but decided against it. The frigidity in the physician's blue eyes made them resemble two shards of ice.

"Right. Fair enough." The young witch resumed her task.

Once Mildred's trunk was empty, and the Doctor had inspected her drawers and her cloak pockets to his satisfaction, he informed her that dinner would be served at eight, and she had the option to eat with him or in her room. He also informed her where his office was located, that he'd be leaving the clinic at midnight, and that one of his night shift nurses would be 'taking over for him' until ten in the morning. Without waiting for Mildred to acknowledge this new information, he left her alone in her new quarters.

She fell face first onto the bed, exhausted by the entire exchange. She had a strong desire to be frustrated with the physician, to cast him into the pool of untrustworthy elders in her life alongside her parents…but the situation was more complex than she was used to.

Mildred groaned into the dusty pillow beneath her.

How could someone that had been good for her also be angry at her? It was exceedingly uncomfortable to have to actually look at her part in what irked the Doctor. She was so used to being lashed out against for no justifiable reason- so used to suffering unfairly that she had grown accustomed to comforting herself with thoughts of how all those who punished her were just irrational or crazy - and that all she had to do was survive through the next outburst.

Living in that headspace not without its torment- but in a way, it had been easy to see all adults as abusive lunatics or good Samaritans - with no in-betweens and no nuance to their characters.

Mildred turned her head to the side, lamenting the battle in her mind. She couldn't actually view someone she knew was a respectable human being as evil simply because they were displeased with her. Instead of wanting to eliminate the danger that often came with adults being cross at her, she actually wanted forgiveness. She wanted Dr. Grisham to stop looking like it pained him to set eyes on her.

 **06:22pm**

"You may enter."

Dr. Grisham's voice sounded from the other side of the thin door that Mildred had bestowed her hesitant knocks upon. When she worked up the nerve, she made her way into his office.

The physician looked up from the medical chart in front of him.

"Mildred," he regarded her coolly.

She smiled weakly at the man, then looked away to take in her surroundings. The office was small, cramped. There were folders tabbed with names stacked haphazardly on the shelves behind his desk, and several dead plants were clustered together on the edge of the windowsill to the left of him. Random knickknacks- including a snow globe, a penlight, and several army figurines littered the edges of his desktop. A medical degree hung in a glass frame on the far wall next to a worn picture of two young boys.

"I can give you a salve for those bruises, if you'd like," Dr. Grisham offered neutrally, noticing for the first time the small green and yellow marks scattered across her chin.

"No, it's- it's fine," the teen replied, "but thank you."

The man across her simply shrugged, and resumed writing notes in the margins of the open chart on his desk. For a long while, the only sound in the workroom was the scratching of his pen.

"Dr. Grisham, I came here to apologize," Mildred forced out.

His hand stilled, and he peered at her over his glasses."What for?"

"For…for beating up Ethel," she answered uncertainly. "I feel really awful about it."

"Do you?"

Mildred considered his skeptical question. Did she really feel bad about causing Ethel pain? She didn't like that she'd lashed out and acted like her parents, but she found it hard to conjure up remorse for hurting her long-time nemesis.

"I suppose not…" she admitted nervously, darting her tongue out to lick her dry lips. "I just…I just didn't want you to hate me anymore."

"I don't hate you," Dr. Grisham replied in a tone too casual to be convincing.

She rolled her shoulders back, and determinedly met the physician's eyes.

"What do I have to do? What do I have to do to make you see that I'm not an awful person?"

There was a creak as the Doctor sat back in his office chair, a pensive expression on his face.

"I think I have an idea."

* * *

 **07:03pm**

The halls of St. Aumar's were quiet during the evening, quite a contrast to the bustling chaos Mildred had become accustomed to in the daytime. When they reached the Intensive Care Unit on the seventh floor, Dr. Grisham told her to stay hidden.

He approached the nurse at the front desk and told her he was coming to check on the status of a patient. When he was certain that she was not looking, he beckoned Mildred to join him as they made their way to Room Nineteen. The young witch stayed silent when they reached their destination, so focused on remaining tight-lipped that she missed the name written on the insert below the room number.

The pair shuffled towards the hospital bed before them, and Dr. Grisham stepped aside to give the teen with him a full view.

Mildred's throat went as dry as the Sahara desert as she took in the sight of Ethel's abused form.

The girl's skin was stark white in contrast to the large, purple bruise that seemed to cover the entirety of the right side of her face. The eye that was swollen shut was leaking a clear fluid that dribbled onto her temple and seeped into her hair.

A coarse, groaning sound left Ethel's mouth each time she inhaled, and her whole body jerked at random intervals. Her right hand was tied above her head to the side rail with a soft wrist restraint. The large white bandage on her right ribcage held the large plastic tube that came out of her chest in place. The blood in the tube ran down into a rectangular device that sat on a table lower than the level of the bed.

"That is a chest tube," Dr. Grisham whispered, gesturing towards the plastic contraption. "You broke two of her ribs, one of which punctured the sac surrounding her lung. The sac filled with blood, altering its air pressure. When the air pressure in the sac is altered, the lung cannot expand. In short, she couldn't use it to breathe. So a tube had to be placed to drain the blood out."

A lump that seemed to be made of knives formed in Mildred's throat. She tried to swallow it so hard she was sure she'd crushed her own windpipe.

She could do little more than stare- stare at the damage she'd wrought on the other witches body. She stepped closer to grasp the edge of the bunched up hospital blanket at the foot of the bed, and gingerly brought it up around Ethel's shoulders. The girl below her winced, and her eyelids began to flutter open.

Before Ethel had a chance to take in her surroundings, Mildred turned to push past the doctor and flee the room. After closing the door behind her with the softest of clicks, the young witch turned to the side, inching several steps away. She then pressed her back up against the wall and sank to her knees, careful to stay out of the line of sight of the nurse down the hallway.

 _What the fuck have I become?_

She stared morosely down at her hands like the dangerous weapons they were. She knew she could argue that she was simply the product of her environment, an inevitable perpetrator shaped by fists and belts and the ends of lit cigarettes, built on a foundation of broken bones and trust- but nothing that had happened in her past justified what she had done- what resulted in what she had just seen.

She breathed heavily against her kneecaps, perturbed by her inability to cry. _I should be fucking crying, crying and begging for forgiveness. But instead all I can do is feel like this empty piece of shit- this fucking monster._

After some time, the door beside her creaked, and Dr. Grisham stepped out into the hallway. He glanced down at her, and extended his hand. She took it and he pulled her to her feet.

After waiting for the nurse at the station to respond to a patient's call light, the pair tip-toed across the linoleum until they reached the elevator. Once safely inside, Mildred turned to the man, desperate to explain herself.

"I didn't run from the room when she woke up because I was scared of confrontation!" She insisted, the corners of her eyes prickling.

"I just…it's just…in my experience, if you get knocked around, you hardly want to see the person that knocked you around when you first come to. It's kind of…scary."

 _You sound like an idiot, babbling about. As if you have a reason to be upset. **You're** not the one laying in a hospital bed. _ The teen closed her eyes, wanting more than anything to bask in her well-deserved self hate.

Mildred heard Dr. Grisham shift, and gulped audibly in response.

"Mildred," he addressed her softly. She opened one eye cautiously, seeing that he'd knelt down to be level with her.

"Yeah?" she whispered dumbly, willing her voice not to crack.

"I'm proud of you, Mildred," he said, smiling softly.

Aghast, all she could do was nod.

Then, he reached out to tuck a stray hair behind her ear. Almost like a father would.

* * *

 **Jan 8** **th** **, 2000**

 **05:35pm**

Constance had not spent more than two minutes in a room with Edward Hallow since she'd been in her early twenties. At the time, she'd shared a dormitory at Weirdsister with his fiancée, Christine Hallow. Back in those days, he'd been an energetic, ambitious young man who positively glowed in the presence of the woman he loved. He'd changed dramatically since. As she entered Amelia's office, the Potions Mistress shook his hand firmly, her heart surging with pity when she met his dull, hardened eyes.

Constance had no doubt that Mr. Hallows stoic countenance had been a permanent fixture of his personality since the moment his wife had died in childbirth thirteen years ago.

"Thank you for coming, Ms. Hardbroom," he said curtly.

"Of course." She took a seat in the armchair nearest to the fireplace.

Amelia shuffled over to the pair, shifting her eyes to and fro between them. None of the room's occupants said a word until she perched herself on the edge of her couch.

"Headmistress Cackles, are you faring well?" Mr. Hallow asked, his voice like granite.

"Yes, thank you." Amelia opened her mouth to return the question as a pleasantry, but realized that asking would come off insensitive considering he'd just come from visiting Ethel in the hospital.

Sensing the older witch's hesitancy, Constance cut in.

"How is your daughter recovering?"

The solemn wizard turned his dark eyes on her.

"Straight to the point, as usual, Constance."

The Potions Mistress' composure did not waver under his gaze. "Yes, well-"

"One of my daughter's lungs is being kept in working order with a _plastic tube_ ," Mr. Hallow interjected, his lip curling. "She cannot open one of her eyes, and her face is barely recognizable. She is sedated for the majority of the day because she cannot tolerate the pain she experiences when conscious."

Both women stilled. Constance smoothed her dress, and Amelia ran her hand through her gray frizz.

"However," the man continued, "she is _recovering_. No damage was done to her brain, and the physicians believe she will be ready to return to her studies by the end of next month."

The Headmistress exhaled through pursed lips, making a small whistling sound.

"I am thrilled that she is safe, and will be returning to us," Amelia said, placing a hand on Mr Hallow's forearm. He withdrew from the touch immediately.

"As am I," Constance chimed in, careful to keep her posture neutral.

"If the two of you are so thrilled that my daughter's condition has stabilized, then why is the _little witch_ that put her in the hospital still enrolled at your Academy?"

Mr. Hallows pointed question was directed at Amelia, whom he peered at intensely over his black-rimmed spectacles.

The older witch blanched.

"Per my request," Constance admitted hurriedly, anxious to get his focus off of her boss.

" _You?_ " Mr. Hallow bit out, face alive with incredulity. "I was under the impression that Ms. Hubble was your least favorite pupil."

"Yes," she replied quietly, dropping her gaze the floor. "She _was._ "

"Ms. _Hardbroom_. You, of all people would advocate for this child? After what she has done to my daughter?"

"I am incensed with what Ms. Hubble has done to Ethel, of course," she answered, steeling her eyes back upwards. "Though it cannot match what you must feel right now. I cannot say I understand your position…but if I were you I would want the harshest consequences for whomever harmed my child."

"Then why not subject her to them? She is clearly dangerous."

"I do not-" Constance began, instinctively looking to Amelia for support. But the Headmistress' head was bowed, and she was neurotically digging the toe of her right boot into the carpet.

"I do not see how isolating a child with emotional difficulties will make her any _less_ of a danger."

Mr. Hallow's ensuing stare bored through her, and Constance understood in that moment why his early career as prosecutor for the Magistrate had been so successful.

"What has changed between you and the Hubble girl, Ms. Hardbroom?"

The Potions Mistress shifted backwards into the armchair, unsettled by his scrutiny.

"It must have been a monumental shift, for you to not be seething over the grave damage she's done to your favorite student," Mr. Hallow needled, enjoying the way the woman across him seemed to physically crumple in on herself.

"Perhaps," he continued, "you are trying to protect yourself?"

" _I am not,_ " Constance seethed, instantaneously snapping out of submission.

"Then why protect her?"

 _Enough._

" _Because she has no one else!_ " she blurted out, causing both Mr. Hallow and Amelia to start.

The wizard before her analyzed her for a beat, taking in the uncharacteristic desperation in her eyes, the poorly-masked heavy breathing, and the slight tremble in her left hand.

Mr. Hallow loosened his tie, and sat back. "Though the implications behind that statement are likely ones you cannot legally disclose to me, I can use my imagination. If what I am imagining is the reality, that is most unfortunate. However, in my eyes, it does not make the emotional safety of Ms. Hubble more important than the physical safety of my _daughter._ "

 _Oh, I'm sure you don't have to use your imagination at all, Edward. In your position at the Board of Governors, I'm sure your privy to all sorts of information that you are not legally entitled to. I wonder how your daughter was aware of Ms. Hubble's custody arrangement over the holidays, hmm?_

Constance wanted to say all that she was thinking to the man, since she figured she was fighting a losing battle anyways. But she had to grudgingly remind herself that the man's child was injured, and he was, most understandably, out for blood.

"You are correct, Mr. Hallow. There are no excuses for Ms. Hubble's actions. I implore you, however, to consider that this is likely an isolated incident." She paused to fix him with a knowing look. "As I am _certain_ that you are aware, when one is in a considerable amount of grief, they can lash out physically, even if violence has never been characteristic of their behavior beforehand."

Behind glass lenses, his eyes widened a fraction. Constance had appealed, rather unethically, to his experience. It was widely known that Mr. Hallow had taken several swings at the physician who had failed to resuscitate his wife.

The Potions Mistress knew one of two reactions were possible – he could (a) shut her down in justifiable fury for exploiting the tragedies of his past, or (b) recall, for just a moment, the way he felt before he delivered that undeserved blow all those years ago, and understand that suffering could temporarily turn anyone into a monster.

The wizard ground his teeth together, emitting an unpleasant clicking sound.

"Those parallels you draw are rather bold, Constance."

She nodded reservedly, feeling the buzz of Amelia's silent judgment from several meters away.

"Is the girl-" he stopped to compose his sentence, "are her emotional difficulties being addressed _sufficiently_?"

"Yes, if you would consider multiple times a week sufficient," the Potions Mistress replied curtly.

 _As if you don't already know she's seeing a Mind Healer._

Mr. Hallow set his jaw, looked down, and adjusted his cuff links.

"I will not personally call for her expulsion. I will leave that decision to Ethel." He looked between the two women for signs of bubbling disagreement. "It is the _just_ thing to do. She was the one who paid the ultimate price for Ms. Hubble's… _suffering._ "

Constance sighed heavily. As much as she hated it, that was all the man was willing to give her.

"Thank you," she whispered, unsure of how grateful she really was.

The wizard stood, his dark eyes glinting. "You are welcome. Although I must say, Constance, you are the _last_ person I would expect to show tolerance for _violence_ in an _academic environment_."

Though the low-blow was well-deserved, it was still shocking. She hadn't expected him to know about Hecate.

 _You dolt, of_ _ **course**_ _he knew. Christine saw you come back to the dormitory nursing an injury after **every** tutoring session._

Constance grimaced, imagining her former college roommate, tearfully disclosing her concern to Edward during a post-coital bonding session.

The deputy rose from her seat, and offered her hand to the wizard before her. After a weary but firm handshake, Mr. Hallow thanked Amelia for her time and left the office.

* * *

 **Jan 9** **th** **, 2000**

 **09:23am**

"Doctor…this…this is atrocious," the stout woman across the mahogany desk breathed, the piece of paper in her trembling hands wavering.

"Quite," Dr. Grisham agreed.

Mrs. Clara Bradford, the deputy administrator of the Magical Protection Board, set down her copy of the official document that bore the exhaustive list of Mildred Hubble's injuries. She laid her hands down on the tabletop, meeting the physician's eyes with a grave expression.

"Still, in light of this, I cannot grant your request for an immediate home placement."

The physician let out a frustrated sigh. It was the answer he had expected, but expecting it did not make it any easier to accept.

" _Did you not read the last page_?" his voice was low, angry. He seized the original copy of the document in his hands, waving it in the air for effect.

Deputy Bradford's mouth twisted with some sort of intense emotion, but she forced herself to relax.

"I read it. But you must know that the number of wizarding families willing to adopt adolescents is rather slim. And with the girls' recent episode of violence-"

"Can you _blame_ her?" he interrupted harshly, too put off to be civil.

To the physician's surprise, the woman sat up straight, squared her shoulders, and scowled.

"Of course not. I do not _blame_ any of them. If I had it my way, every ward in the Magistrate's care would be taken in by a loving, stable home and all of them would have ample opportunity for healing. But unfortunately, the world doesn't operate as such."

His expression softened, realizing that the woman before him had likely engaged in different variations of their exact conversation thousands of times throughout her tenure at the Board. He scolded himself for not being a bit more sensitive to her position. He wondered how witnessing tragedy after tragedy that one was powerless to stop on a daily basis affected a person.

"Of course it doesn't," Dr. Grisham offered quietly. "I know it doesn't. I just wish that there was something more we could do for Ms. Hubble."

Mrs. Bradford's shoulders sagged with a mixture of relief and sadness.

"You are not alone. I have put her up for adoption on our official register, as I do for all of the wards. I have several of my employees looking for a foster placement for her…but even foster families are reluctant to house teenagers."

Dr. Grisham gazed past her shoulder to study the picture of her playing with her two small children sitting on the bookshelf. He let a small smile graze his lips.

"Doctor?"

He glanced up. "Where will she go?"

Mrs. Bradford straightened the lapels of her navy blue suit jacket. "A group home, most likely. There is one close to Cackles Academy."

He closed his eyes forlornly.

"That home is almost at capacity, is it not?" he asked.

"Yes. The ratio of counselors to wards is one to twelve. But visitors are welcome."

He nodded, folding the paper in his hands neatly in half. "Thank you, Mrs. Bradford. Please contact me at once if you are able to find a placement."

Dr. Grisham stood from his chair, and extended his hand across her desk.

Mrs. Bradford shook it firmly. "I will."

* * *

 **02:21pm**

Mildred felt cloaked by the awkwardness in Mrs. Molyneux's office. She'd curled up against the armrest of the pastel blue couch, trying to clear her mind by focusing on the noises the clock on the far wall was making.

"So, I –ear zat you 'ad an altercation of 'zorts," the Mind Healer probed matter-of-factly.

"You could say that."

" 'Vud you like to share 'vat 'zee disagreement 'vas about?"

"It was more than a _disagreement._ She wouldn't shut her mouth. So I shut it for her." The teen looked down at the still-slightly-swollen fist that had accomplished said 'closing'.

" 'Vat did she say?"

Mildred groaned. After seeing the state she'd put Ethel in, the taunts that had prompted her beating seemed incredibly harmless.

"She teased me about having to stay at Cackles over Christmas."

"Mmm."

 _Tick, Tock._

 _Tick, Tock._

 _Tick-_

"I mean, that really pissed me off. But it wasn't- I shouldn't have- I think I acted…rashly."

Mrs. Molyneux scribbled something on her notepad.

" 'Vas that all 'zat angered you? Just 'zee one statement from 'zat girl?"

"It's her all around, I guess. She's been a right bitch to me for years and I've always just taken it lying down. I didn't even want it to escalate. She was teasing my friends, and started to fight with one of them aggressively. I tried to break it up, and then she made that comment….and I was so mad at her for just pushing and pushing even when I was trying to calm everyone down. She just wouldn't fucking stop. She's never fucking stopped, not once. I just wanted to- to-"

"Control 'zee situation?" the woman offered.

"I- Yes. Just for once. I wanted to have the power." Mildred admitted, embarrassed at how hot her cheeks had grown.

" 'Zat is perfectly natural, given everything you 'ave been through," Mrs. Molyneux remarked, sensing her discomfort.

The teen tensed.

"Right, thanks for that. Moving on now."

The Mind Healer smiled softly for a beat, but her lips curled downwards into a frown when she caught sight of the markings on her patient's chin.

" 'Did zee other girl strike you as 'vell? You 'ave bruises on your face."

The young witch coughed. "Yes! Yeah, she got in a swing. But I struck her first."

"Mmmm."

 _I just lied to her for the first time_. Mildred nearly jumped at the unbidden thought- since when had she cared about whether or not she was honest? Transparency normally got her hurt, the information she'd chosen to reveal in the past had usually been turned against her.

But Mrs. Molyneux, much like Dr. Grisham, sparked perspectives and urges within her that countered her basic survival instincts. Could it be that there were people with whom she could share the truth without fear? She studied how the sunrays streaming in through the dirty window transformed the dust in the room into dancing, golden glitter. Maybe the answer to that question was yes, but she'd need a hell of a lot more time before she'd be ready to disclose the _full_ truth to _anyone_.

She pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes, irritated. She had always wanted to protect herself, but over the past week, she'd been plagued by an unbearable desire to let people in. How was she supposed to reconcile that clusterfuck of a conflict?

"Mildred?"

"Yeah?"

" 'Iz something wrong?"

"No, not really."

"Mmm."

* * *

 **03:13pm**

Constance kept pace behind Mildred as the two exited St. Aumar's through a pair of giant double doors. The young witch dug around in her cloak pockets for her gloves, muttering expletives under her breath about how damn cold the air was.

"I suggested you put your gloves on in the elevator," the older witch teased lightly, a bit amused at the melodramatic glare the freckled teen shot her over her shoulder.

"What _would_ I do without you?" Mildred remarked sarcastically.

"Freeze to death, probably."

The young witch snorted, slowing her speed so she fell into step beside her Potions Mistress.

Constance looked up at the leafless trees lining the path to the hospitals front gate, their branches resembling claws reaching upwards in futility towards the grey sky.

"How was your weekend?" Mildred asked her lightheartedly.

"I spent the majority of my weekend grading essays written by the pupils in your cohort, so you can guess."

The girl frowned. "Don't you ever, like, give yourself time off? Go to the pub or something with your friends?"

It was Constance's turn to snort. "I have never taken much of a liking to drinking, Mildred."

"Or friends?"

It took the older witch a moment to determine if the child was trying to insult her or was asking an innocent question.

"At my age, galavanting about with friends on a regular basis is not typical."

"Oh, come on!" the teen exclaimed, "my Dad went out with his work mates all the time, and he's gotta be at least your age."

The deputy's eyebrows shot up in surprise at the girl's lighthearted mention of one of her parents. Unsure of how to steer the conversation, she kept her answer brief.

"Well, I suppose some my age are more social than others."

"Uh-huh," Mildred replied cheekily. They had reached the hospital's front gate. To Constance's utter surprise, the teen took it upon herself to push it open so the older witch could walk through.

Constance looked down at her student like she was an alien that had clawed it's way out of someone's stomach.

"Thank you, Mildred."

The teen rolled her eyes.

"I'm not an animal, Miss. If you ever cared to notice before, I've always had manners."

"More or less, I suppose."

The young witch shook her head, grinning.

"You're impossible."

Constance shrugged, her cloak rustling as it made contact with the withered leaves beneath her feet.

"So I've been told."

The pair continued walking through the forest, taking solace in the natural beauty around them. Dr. Grisham's clinic was only several miles from St. Aumar's, and the Potions Mistress was content to enjoy an afternoon journey with the girl at her side.

"How was your session?" the deputy asked after several minutes of silent strolling.

"It was a session," Mildred muttered, crunching a twig underneath her boot with a bit more force than necessary. When the other witch didn't pry, she continued of her own accord.

"The woman means well, she's a good person. Her questions are annoying, but I guess they're supposed to be. I just think she's wasting her time."

Constance hated that the child's hopelessness caused her heart to clench. Hated that she could feel so affected, so _concerned_. It made her want to disappear from the girl's life, just to escape the feelings.

 _I am a coward._

"What leads you to that conclusion?"

 _There you go, Constance. Keep it light, keep it casual._

"I mean-" Mildred paused to climb over a fallen tree trunk blocking their path, "it's- there's nothing she can say or do really. She can't fix anything, fix me or whatever. And that's not an insult to her abilities. I don't think _anyone_ can fix damaged goods."

Constance stopped to steady herself, heady with a cocktail of pity and fury and powerlessness.

Before the girl could look back at her and catch the reaction, she answered with, "I see."

"She has these really gorgeous paintings in her office," the teen continued, her voice a bit breathy from exertion, "of this epic-sized mountain range. She's also got a little Buddha statue on her desk. And- at first I thought this was stupid- but now I actually think it's an interesting quirk- she's always wearing scrubs with Snoopy on them."

The deputy cocked her head.

"Snoopy?"

Mildred swiveled around, looking comically affronted.

"Uh, the dog from Charlie Brown?"

The older witch merely shrugged.

"You've never heard of _Charlie Brown?_ It's only been the most popular cartoon….for like, the past fifty years."

"I never had access to a television, Ms. Hubble," Constance replied haughtily, "I've heard of these… _cartoons_ , but I've never seen one."

"Oh, man" Mildred chuckled, her wild tresses flying to-and-fro as she shook her head, "You were _deprived_ as a kid _."_

"I hardly see how superficial entertainment qualifies as a need."

 _The irony of her calling_ _ **my**_ _childhood deprived._

The teen shook her head in mock sadness, and began to turn away from her to continue on through the forest. As Mildred turned, the meager sunlight making its way through the clouds above illuminated the bruises on her chin.

The reminder of what she had done immediately paralyzed Constance; as if all the blood in her circulation had instantaneously turned to concrete.

Somewhere, Hecate was laughing at her.

* * *

 _A/N: I take no ownership of the creative property of Jill Murphy or JK Rowling. Up next: the trial._


End file.
